An Elf Will Stand for Us All
by Kooshee
Summary: Another drabbles fanfic with Solas/f!Lavellan mage and their developing romance (original scenes, some retelling). It starts immediate-post final battle (before epilogue), then the chapters will come in no particular order. Rated M for sexual content and violence.
1. Abelas Part I

Another drabbles-type fanfic. These will come in no particular order, but all are elaborations on their romance.

This first part is immediate post-final battle.

Maybe Lavellan is a much stronger person than I, but she still keeps insisting "I'm just like everybody else." I don't think having your soulmate dump you in quite a…final way would have her be so cavalier about it. Especially in situation with emotions running so high. She just kinda…looks up at him being gone and is all "meh" and walks away.

As such, hear is my take. I hope you all like it! I named her Arya.

* * *

><p>Abelas, Part I<p>

"No matter what comes, know what we had was real." Their eyes met, fiery emerald green to steely blue. Even masked by the exhilaration of victory, warning bells pealed in her head, the way he said such a phrase. So final and…apologetic. She started towards him instantly, dread filling her heart as her brows furrowed.

"Inquisitor!" a cry of relief distracted her, halting her steps as Cassandra came running into view, a great dent in her charred shield. Arya turned back to Solas, unwillingly to leave the gap between them so wide. Her hunter's instincts told her something was off. But she remembered his words, "I promise…All will be explained." Her eyes were ripped from him as Cassandra turned her roughly, patting her down and assessing her for injury.

The Seeker's worried frown turned to a giant grin. She grabbed the mage's still glowing green hand and pulled her toward the edge of the steps, seemingly oblivious to Arya's struggles to free herself. When their party came into view, Cassandra raised their clasped hands above their heads in triumph. Her party screamed in delight and Arya was unable to disentangle herself before she was led down the stairs to her cheering comrades.

She was swept up in the emotion of the group, consumed in their laughing, hugging, receiving numerous slaps on her back.

Remembering, she looked up to find Solas, unable to find his eyes in the crowd. He had not followed and was standing at the edge of the stairs, clutching his side, which bled slightly. Why was he still up there, not joining in their celebration? She caught his eyes, searching, wordlessly asking for explanation. She recognized hard determination, but even as she held his gaze, his brows furrowed in sadness, his shoulders falling forward as he leaned on his staff for support. True alarm began to rise from her heart.

As she began to move towards him, Iron Bull roughly thumped her on the back in congratulations and she staggered forward under the weight of his huge hand. Laughing, distracted by having the wind completely knocked out of her and having to regain her balance, she stood and her eyes sought the top of the stone steps again.

They were empty.

Absolute dread flooded her as her stomach plummeted through the stone steps of the floating rock. The raucous laughter and cheers of her friends around her died, falling oddly silent as she sprinted up the stairs in a panic. Maybe he has just moved out of sight…surely she would seem him when she reached the top.

When she crested the stone stairs, hers eyes frantically searched the destroyed courtyard for his familiar form. There was nothing to find.

No….it couldn't be…

"NO! Ma'vhenan!" her mournful shriek was like the loud blast of a bugle that ripped through the air, silencing all other sounds. She sprinted forward, unaware at the jabs of pain the shards on the ground elicited as they ripped open the soft flesh of her bare feet as she ran forward in her terror. She reached the place where the elven orb sat shattered on the bloody stones and whirled on the spot, searching, casting her magic out in desperate search for his aura, only to find….nothing.

He was gone.

"MA AR'LATH" She screamed into the cold air, now deathly silent, the cries of victory dead on the wind.

He had quit the field without even saying goodbye.

The world crashed down around her and she fell to her knees, feeling suffocated, a panic rising in her throat. He was _gone_. As she looked down, the orb came into focus. She gingerly picked up the largest of the pieces, the one that Solas picked up with despairing fingers. It was still slightly pulsing with magic from the Fade. Even as she held it, it beat out its last life force, then lay still and dark. The warmth faded and it lay, cold and still in her palm.

"Solas?" the voice was meek, almost begging.

But it was for naught. Somehow, she knew he wouldn't be coming back. His words to her were so final…

"No matter what comes, know what we had was real."

She lifted her head and screamed her agony and frustration at the sky before she viciously hurled the offending piece of trinket into a boulder, where it lodged into the stone with a solid _thunk_ and a flash of sparks, charring the boulder with magical fire. He LIED to her, he had promised to explain…but…he lied…how…._why_ did he…

She was lost to the world as she wailed her grief into her hands.

From a nearby vantage point, shielded and invisible, he watched her sorrow and rage. His tears were silent, and he made no move to wipe them from his face. He longed with all his heart to go to her, to comfort her, but he just stood, watching, letting her grief wash over him in torturous waves. Her companions stood at the foot of the stairs, at a complete loss for words, watching their hero and savior, broken and defeated in light of their greatest victory.

It was obviously not a victory for her. Cole's voice, heartbreaking and soft, broke the shocked silence.

"Gone…gone…he's really gone. Gasping, gagging on tears, guilt, he's gone. Promised to tell, promised to explain. Liar. Gone. Can't stop…must be strong…must suffer in silence…Solas…can't…I can't…I can't." His voice drifted off, a somehow novel sadness layered in his words as he choked out the devastation emanating from their leader.

Solas felt his heart would break. His knuckles were white as he clutched his staff, driving the butt of it into the earth. He deserved this, to sit and watch her. And he couldn't leave until he knew she was safe.

He watched as the crass elf moved towards her, surprised when Dorian roughly pulled her back by the collar of her shirt. He couldn't hear the cowering words the mage said to the blond elf, but it was effective. She hung her head and wrung her hands together, giving a small and uncharacteristically meek nod. Instead, Dorian started to hesitantly move toward her, Varric following closely behind him.

When they reached her, Dorian dropped to one knee. Tentatively, he reached out and placed a comforting hand on her back. She turned to him instantly and threw her arms around her neck, weeping openly into the mage's armored robes. He pulled the elven woman into his arms, so tiny in the Tevinter's hands and murmured something softly to her, his lips pressed closely against the red curls. She tried to speak, choking and attempting to splutter out words, frustration adding to her grief.

The mage whispered into the red curls, to which she paused, and then nodded in response, clutching his robes, her fist in a ball of the armored fabric.

The Tevinter shifted her in his arms to free a glowing purple hand, which shone sweetly as he placed it gently on her forehead. The wails stopped abruptly as her hands went slack in his grip.

Only Varric's calm soothed Solas's sudden panic – Varric would have never tolerated any harm coming to his friend. Dorian produced a handkerchief and gently blotted her face of the mess, wiping her face with the utmost care so that she would have no trouble breathing. There was a murmured conversation between the Tevinter and the dwarf that ended with a slight solemn nod from the mage. He stood with her in his hands, her weight bearing no burden whatsoever to the large human. He arranged the sleeping elf carefully, holding her against his chest protectively.

The gentleness and care the Tevinter used to care for his mate surprised Solas – his dismissal of the flamboyant man was premature. He had wondered why she had spent so much time with the seemingly frivolous human. Varric, he already knew, loved her without question.

As Dorian and Varric reached the group, no one spoke, still in shock. Even Morrigan had the decency to remain quiet and abashed, if only due to her own confusion at Arya's reaction.

"What….what do we do now?" it was Cassandra's timid voice, unusually layered with concern and fear.

"We won. We enjoy it." Varric said simply.

"But the Inqusitior…"

"Deserves some privacy to play this out as she chooses. We can give her that much."

"The first thing that people will want to know is what happened to her." Iron Bull said cautiously.

"Then tell them she was injured and we took her directly to her room for care. They can fill in the details themselves, as they always have." The dwarf spoke with uncharacteristic authority, devoid of his sarcasm and good natured humor. It booked no argument.

Dorian was unable to say anything, and stood cradling her in his arms, daring anyone to take her from him.

Varric then turned and spoke directly to Iron Bull.

"I need you to go tell the Inquisition of our victory. They can't see anything from the top of this blasted damn rock. Can you do that?" Iron Bull nodded.

"Of course."

Varric then turned sharply to the rest of them. "Come on guys, we won! Act like it!" They just stared at him.

"Please. For me. For her." They all turned to gaze at Dorian, still cradling her in his arms.

They all left save for Cassandra, Morrigan, and Cole. The excitement of their victory returned as they chatted and cheered and ran off to tell the Inquisition the good news.

"Find Leliana and bring her to me." He said this to Cassandra. The woman nodded gravely, turning and trotting off purposefully.

Dorian and Varric stayed, presumably to allow the Inquisition to be distracted with their victory so they wouldn't worry about their Inquisitor just yet. They bought her some time to pull herself together. He was grateful.

She had to pull herself together. She had her duty to the Inquisition – a power he would need in the days to come. So that he could return to her. If it was to be so.

He stayed there, watching the mage and rogue chat quietly with one another, and noted that Varric's hand had crept into Arya's limp one, and was holding it gently.

He felt eyes on him and turned, noticing that Cole looked directly at the spot in which he stood watching them, eyes burning with the fire he had only seen once before – when he had confronted the templar that had indirectly murdered the real Cole. He stared back, but did not move or offer any explanation.

Varric's and Dorian's voices turned sour and they knew they were speaking of him. Satisfied that she was safe, he gave Cole one last look, and vanished.


	2. Abelas Part II

A/N – This chapter is a doozy, and will conclude our endgame sads! It shall be fluffs from here on out, at least for the most part.

* * *

><p>Abelas Part II<p>

She silently watched the celebrations in the courtyard below, a foot dangling lazily over the edge of the parapet, hugging her other knee to her chest as her back rested against the aged stone. Had she been in view of any living soul, they most certainly would be alarmed at her precarious perch, but she chose this spot specifically because no one would think to look for her here. Save for maybe Cole. Even if someone were to look exactly where she sat, they would be none the wiser: the large bonfire in the training grounds cast long, flickering shadows, and she was nestled in a large swath of darkness.

She glanced enviously at her people drinking and dancing happily around the courtyard. Indeed, the danger of the Breach was gone and Corypheus was defeated because of the Inquisition, they should celebrate. She wished she could do so genuinely. They were…so happy. And so she was, as well.

For them.

She bit back a sigh, hating herself _still_ for her melancholy, despite its supposed justification. Despite her promises she would be strong. She had just hoped when her task was completed, she, too, could be happy _with_ them, not just for them.

But no…_they_ were free. Free to choose their own paths in this world. Free to laugh, dance, drink, love…but not her. She was stuck. Trapped in the politics, the scheming, the battles, the constant noise and commotion.

That's why she was up here, at the top of farthest tower at the periphery of Skyhold, sheltered in the dark, desperately seeking refuge from the noise, frivolity, happiness, and the comforting words of her friends. She shivered suddenly, aware of how the unyielding stone was leaching the heat from her back. She looked longingly at the roaring blaze of the central bonfire, but she refused to leave her place of solace.

She grimaced at her unconscious use of the word, shaking her head rapidly as her eyes began to burn. She couldn't think of him. She had been successful in holding it together thus far…at least, mostly. She pinched her thigh and yelped, her brain successfully distracted.

She couldn't stand it any longer, their said looks as they watched her shuffle along the halls, reticent and weary with a smile on her face that most would think genuine, but not her Inner Circle. She tried to stay out of sight to allow herself to recover and work out how she was to survive the next few months.

Her friends, of course, offered their condolences, words of comfort, offers of help, but she just politely asked them to pretend as though everything was normal and to enjoy their victory. It was want she wanted.

For they, at least, _would _be able to enjoy it. She could only pretend and wait, hoping that she would again gain motivation to be the genuine leader these people needed. It just felt so…dishonest…preaching what she could not even do herself.

And if she were being honest with herself, she knew that the end would likely _not_ be the end - she'd never be free to do as she wished anymore, not truly. She hadn't really in the past year, either. Her responsibility was to the people of the Inquisition, to lead them, be a figurehead that both mages and elves could be accepted as equals and even rulers in the new world. She had to be strong for posterity's sake – for her people and for all of Thedas. She couldn't abandon them to wallow in her grief. It would be beyond selfish and hypocritical. She…had to endure.

Her brain's particular choice of phrasing snatched her yet again out of the present, and she was watching Solas as he kneeled in the dry grass of the Exalted Plains as he ended the life of his spirit friend - the immeasurable sadness that buckled his shoulders forward as he stooped the edge of the creek, head bowed. Yet even then, he had smiled as he turned to her to thank her for her help. Her eyes began to burn as the memory fleshed out his handsome face.

"Now I must endure."

Those were his words, echoing that of his ethereal friend's. Then he abruptly left her with Cassandra and Cole. She should still smell the reek of burning flesh from the cindered chunks of human mages that he obliterated in his righteous fury.

She shook herself to return to the present, wiping her face on her tunic sleeve. Even then, she thought it odd that he had left to mourn alone, but she had excused his actions due to her own ignorance of his person.

Warning bells. Warning bells everywhere, and she had ignored them all.

She couldn't look for him, either. He _knew_ that when he left. He knew that she took her responsibilities seriously, that the rebuilding of Thedas required her to be strong, resilient. That she would stay for the sake of her people even at the cost of herself.

She hated him for it.

She also hated herself for her moment of weakness at his disappearance. She hated that her friends saw her like that as well. She hated that she couldn't be strong and move on. She hated her feeling of impotence, her continued weakness, her reason for hiding up here on the parapet.

She just hoped that whatever reason he had for leaving, it was worth what he was doing to her. And that…maybe…maybe… he would return to her when he finished his task. Thus leaving her forever waiting for his potential return…

Damn him.

"No matter what comes, know that what we had was real." Was it? Was it…really? She knew it wasn't to last – only she had thought he had been protecting himself against her probable death, to spare himself the heartache later. She never would have guessed that he was planning on leaving all along.

She almost wished that she _had_ died.

If she had, it would be easy for her people to move on and place another on her throne. It seemed almost preferable to the crushing weight in her chest that threatened to choke her, drowning her in sorrow. Her inability to move on, despite promises to herself that she could. Her constant battle to put on a brave face, to smile and laugh.

She tried to convince herself that she wished Solas would have died so that she could move on, and felt instant shame at the thought.

So here she was, watching the joy of her subjects as they celebrated their victory in the darkness and the cold as she desperately tried to sort her still confused feelings.

It had been three days since she woke from Dorian's mercifully induced magical sleep. Thankfully, he was the only one with her when she woke. Her eyes opened slowly, and she saw the worn stones of her ceiling and knew she was back in her room at Skyhold. Smiling, remembering their victory, she rolled over and reached for her lover. Her hands dropped unexpectedly to cold fabric. Her bed was empty. She sat up in alarm, remembering, and frantically looked about the room, but the only eyes to be found were Dorian's, who had moved from her desk into a chair beside her bed. They were worried.

Her eyes asked the desperate question she was unable to voice: _Did he return?_

Dorian's face fell and he shook his head sadly. She bowed her head in acknowledgement, numb before the slam of emotions upended her calm and manifested as choked sobs.

Dorian reached out and placed one hand on her knee, another on her back, offering her the comfort of his presence and support. She tried to compose herself, taking deep breaths and sitting up straight as possible.

"It's okay, love. Go ahead. I'm the only one here with you." She understood his words: she was alone and could cry out in privacy - something that would have been impossible at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

And cry she did. She allowed her feelings of anguish and betrayal to wash through her, hoping they would cease if only she could cry them all out. When she began to choke on her tears, he handed a handkerchief to her, which she took gratefully. She pressed her face into the absorbing fabric, taking comfort in the darkness of the narrowed world as she screamed her heartache into it.

When her sobs subsided to occasional sniffs, she emerged. As she tried to wipe away the mess from her face, she only succeeded in distributing it more thoroughly onto her skin. Embarrassed, she sniffed loudly and averted her eyes from Dorian in shame, pulling her knees to her chest.

His large brown hand came into view, bearing a wettened apothecary cloth. Only then her appreciative eyes sought the Tevinter's, which were gentle and understanding. He waited, not saying anything, just being with her. She cleaned her face better and folded the wet cloth on her lap, heaving a large sigh.

Realizing her stiffness, she uncurled herself from her defensive position and stretched, arms reaching high into the air. Then she collapsed, allowing her arms to drop limply to her lap and her head to hang, humiliation preventing her from meeting Dorian's gaze. They sat like that for a few minutes, Arya scrambling to gain control as the human mage sat quietly, waiting for her to speak. Eventually…he ended the silence.

"I'm so sorry, love." Dorian said simply. She nodded slightly in reply, not trusting herself to speak for fear her voice would break and she'd have to give into crying again. She sighed dejectedly, and felt a warm hand slide into her grip. She squeezed it gratefully, still not able to meet his gaze. She was glad he didn't try to placate her grief with the knowledge that they won and she should be happy about, and for that she was very thankful.

They just sat there in silence for a while, Arya trying to get a grip on her emotions with Dorian providing a friend and anchor to reality.

"No…." she began. She felt him look up at her, alarmed. She continued, "No, I am the one who should be sorry, Dorian. I failed you." Dorian laughed quietly at that, but was silenced by her hurt, angry glance. He coughed, and explained.

"I am afraid you are mistaken, my dear - I mean, it's not as if all of Thedas owes you their lives and more for closing the Breach and defeating Corypheus. We'd be up to our collective asses in demons and heaven knows what else by now if not for you." She shook her head, perturbed.

"No…I mean…I fell apart after defeating Corypheus. Because he…" she stopped. "I can't….I c-c-can't…." She stopped, closing her eyes and swallowing, refusing to give in and cry again.

Dorian was distraught. It hurt him so to see her so vulnerable and defeated, such a stark contrast from the feisty woman he would've followed into the Fade itself and back.

"You don't have to talk to me about it if you don't want to, love." His eyes were soft and perceptive. "We…well, mainly Leliana and Josephine bought you some time to sort yourself out before you face your adoring masses." She shook her head and began again.

"I can't be the Inquisitor if I…."

"Have feelings?" interjected the Tevinter. That silenced her, and she looked down, tears brimming in her eyes.

"It's…more than just that." She whispered, wracked with guilt and inadequacy.

"No, sweet thing – it is not." He sighed, and she felt her chin lift slightly until she was forced to meet his eyes. "Please listen to what I have to tell you before you do anything or decide anything drastic, alright?" His eyes held hers until she assented with a slight nod of her head. It startled her how insightful he could be at times, that he guessed her intentions.

"Now…I'm not even going to bother telling you that you shouldn't feel this way, because that would both be asinine and untrue. You got your heart stomped on, sweet thing, and you don't deserve that. Especially not after all you have done for us. And for me." Her brows furrowed, begging elaboration, not feeling worthy of anything anyways.

"Not only did you save all of our lives, you gave us something to live for – the promise of a better future." His words made sense to her, yet did not lessen the crushing weight on her heart, nor did it mitigate her feeling on inadequacy. She just felt so…so….

Empty.

"Arya." She looked up, shocked. She couldn't recall him ever using her name before, preferring generic terms of endearment.

"Do you remember how I reacted when you told me father wanted to meet me?" She nodded, and a smile tore from her lips at the memory of his indignation.

"Then you must also remember when we went to meet the old bastard. You refused to let me leave without hearing what my father had to say, and if I hadn't listened, I would still be at ends with my family." He smirked. "I mean, I guess we are still at ends, but at least we have a better understanding of each other. It didn't end in another wizard's duel, that's a start." He admitted. "I still don't wish to return to Tevinter, but at least I can look at my past through new eyes. That would never have happened if I had not listened to you, my dear, dear friend." She smiled slightly.

"It's unfair that you are denied the chance for that future, or at least the one you wanted and had planned for. But that doesn't mean you won't be able to move on, love." She barked out a bitter laugh.

Dorian shrugged a shoulder, conceding her point as he grimaced.

"I know…you might not want to, I know, but trust me when I say it gets better. It will never be easy, ever. But it will be better."

"How could you possibly know that?" she spat angrily. "How can you possibly know that I can get over it? I can't be a leader to these people if I can't even control my own despair like a stupid lovesick little girl. I'd be the biggest hypocrite ever. They deserve someone who won't fall apart. And I am clearly incapable of being that person." The words hurt as they came pouring out of mouth, but she knew they were true. She had never felt so…weak in her entire life.

Dorian squeezed her hand.

"You'd only be a hypocrite if you gave into that despair. I've seen you emerge unscathed from impossibly horrific things, and I admire you completely for it. The fact you are a person who has feelings and suffers only allows you to empathize with your people better and makes you compassionate. Would you want _them_ to give up?" He gestured in the general direction of the rest of the castle.

She frowned, still unconvinced.

"Come." He pulled her to her feet and brought her to the window, pointing down into the courtyard below. She leaned against the cool sill and squinted through the afternoon light down at her keep – the drone of many excited voices complemented the bustling activity she saw below as her eyes adjusted to the sun's rays. People were laughing, dancing, drinking.

She stared, numb, uncomprehending his meaning, then she shivered in the still frosty air. Dorian placed his arm around her, drawing her close to his body to both warm her and shield her from the crisp wind. She allowed the closeness, enjoying the warmth of her body if not her heart.

"All of these people are gathered here today, not because they believed in the Inquisition, persay – it's because they believed in you. You, a Dalish elf mage. While some of these people lost everything and might have come to the Inquisition out of necessity, so many more gave up their homes and lives willingly to come help fight with you because they trusted that you would win. And you did."

"You say you can't, well…the world condemned the heathen apostate elf, a _woman_, even - the gall! Yet you proved to those that looked down their nose at you that actually, yes - you jolly well could. And if you felt like it, you damn well could do so again."

"Now…you just have to prove to yourself that you can." He paused, then continued.

"You are the strongest, wisest, best person I have ever had to the pleasure to meet in my lifetime, and I am so, so sorry that the world benefited from your truly heroic actions, then turned around and took a giant shit on you." She laughed in spite of herself, his words reaching her. He smiled, and gave her shoulders a squeeze.

"If anybody could stay strong for her people, it's you. I have never doubted you before, and I don't doubt you now. Don't you dare doubt yourself – it would break my heart for you to give up now after all you have done. Regardless of what some bald elf thinks."

The pride in his voice as her spoke of her soothed her broken heart. Overwhelmed, she turned in his arms and wrapped her arms around his chest, the highest she could reach on his tall frame, clinging to him. He wrapped his other arm around her, holding her close.

"I love you, Dorian. I am so glad that you are here with me." She said the words into his chest and felt his arms squeeze around her tighter.

"I love you, too, my friend. You must, _must_ trust what I say." She nodded into his chest. He pulled back from her so that he could lift her chin with a finger so that she had to look into his eyes.

"But you can, my dear. And you _must_. You have brought us so far, changed the world for the better in so many ways, you can't leave us to muck it all up now. And muck it up, people certainly will. Quite spectacularly, I would imagine. This time, right now, is more important than the closing of the Breach itself, for now…now we rebuild the world. And you have shown us the good that can come from forgiveness, trust, and through giving people a second chance."

"And I know that I, certainly, and all of those people," he gestured to the frivolity in the courtyard below, "would suffer greatly from your loss as our figurehead. Show them what elves and mages can accomplish. Show those who doubted you that you are not yet done shaming them with your good heart. Show _him_." he paused. "Show _him_ what he walked away from: a strong, courageous woman who refuses to be beaten despite the odds and obstacles."

He watched her as she looked down at her feet, then at the people in the courtyard below.

He was right. It didn't matter if she couldn't participate in the happiness she fought for. It didn't matter that Solas was gone and that she might never see him again. It didn't even matter that she be happy – she refused to give up and let others suffer for her weakness. The real work began now, and she was determined that the world not throw away its chance to start anew and get things right for a change.

She felt anger stir in her heart at the thought of all she worked for crumbling around her. She refused to let that happen, regardless of the cost to herself. She looked up at him, squaring her shoulders. "Alright, let's go meet the crowd." He grinned broadly at her, picking her up and squeezing her so hard she had to croak out for him to release her.

She grinned up at him when he put her down, then frowned as he wrinkled his nose.

"Might I…suggest a bath first?" he asked delicately. She laughed genuinely and punched his arm.

"You're awful, you know that, right?"

"Oh, quite." He grinned wickedly. "I will fetch your handmaiden. Beware – she was…slightly put out I insisted on caring for you, she might need mollifying."

He turned and began to walk into her chambers.

"Dorian?"

"Yes, sweet thing?" he paused and looked over his shoulder at her.

"Thank you…for…for everything." The words felt inadequate, so she tried to layer her voice with all the thanks and appreciation and love she felt for the man. For helping her, enabling her to move on. For giving her privacy to mourn as she chose.

He smiled, eyes bright with understanding.

"Again, love, thank _you_." And he turned and left her.

Her handmaiden, a young elven orphan named Elsa she rescued from an alienage in Orlais, ran to Arya and threw her arms around her mistress and friend, wailing indiscriminate words and she clung to her and wept. Arya, touched, hugged her back, soothing her with hushed condolences.

"That…awful man refused to let me see you! I was so upset! I would've clocked him if I'd had the chance!" Arya laughed.

"I think he would've let you, he's actually a big softie." Elsa giggled, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

"I'm sorry that he didn't let you in, but I'm sure he needed peace and quiet to watch the spell he put on me." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth, either. Arya knew Dorian wanted her to recover her state of mind before she met with anyone else, and for that, she was grateful. As much as she loved this sweet girl, having to console her through her own despair would've been close to impossible.

She spent a few more minutes consoling the fretting girl, who then bustled off to prepare her bath water when she had composed herself. Arya followed her, sadness slowly working its way into the cracks of her resolve. She beat it back, angry. It helped that Elsa was there – she didn't want to have to explain her despair to her. Instead, she allowed herself to be coddled by the blonde elf as Elsa hummed a happy, soothing tune as she ran the sponge up and down her sore muscles. She sighed and sunk into the warm water, allowing the tension to drain from her smooth muscles.

Her brain permitted her a momentary reprieve from her emotions, allowing her to enjoy the warmth of the tub and Elsa's happy chatter as she babbled about the bustle of the castle as it prepared to receive its guests for the victory celebration. She said nothing, but relaxed and did as her tiny handmaiden commanded, sitting, standing, or procuring an appendage to wash.

"Elsa." She asked suddenly.

"Yes'm?" She was trimming her nails with a sharp knife, now. Her tongue protruding slightly in her concentration.

"Are you…happy here with me? I have told you before that you have no need to stay with me. I gave you freedom. Especially with Corypheus now gone…the world is about to change for the better. You don't need to be a servant to anyone anymore." They had talked about this before, but Elsa seemed reluctant to divulge her reasons for staying even then.

Elsa frowned slightly, removing the knife from Arya's hands. "No, miss. I would much rather stay with you. You aren't…unhappy with me, are you?" Her voice was upset and heavy with fear.

"No! Not at all! I just…you can go anywhere now. Make a life for yourself. You don't need to be a servant."

"I'm not a servant, miss. I could've left immediately when you saved me, but I didn't. I'm your friend. I like being here, with you. The castle is interesting and full of different sorts of people. I wouldn't even have anywhere else I'd want to go." Her voice was businesslike, even, but rang with sincerity.

"Besides…what would you do without me?" the blond elf grinned hugely and Arya laughed. She recognized Elsa still didn't want to talk about it just yet. Besides, Arya did enjoy her company. She let the matter drop.

"Certainly I'd be much, much dirtier. And I could never braid my hair the way you do."

They spent the rest of Arya's bath in comfortable silence, and her friend helped her dry off with a warm fluffy towel, then dressed into her customary Skyhold attire. While she still preferred to do these things herself, she knew how happy it made Elsa if she let her help.

Varric and Dorian were both waiting for her when she emerged from her washroom, scrubbed clean and refreshed. Her eyes softened when they saw the dwarf, whose faced was both relieved and distressed to see her.

Varric came to her instantly, hesitating slightly before he threw his arms around her waist and clung to her tightly. Her heart broke and she hugged him back, strongly reminded of how she comforted him after Hawke's death.

"I'm all right, Varric. Well...mostly." She admitted. She felt him chuckle against her and he pulled away, backing away slightly so he could gaze at her face without creating a crick in his neck.

"You okay?" he asked seriously. She thought about it.

"No." she answered truthfully. "But I will live. And I will go on. As I must." Her eyes flicked to Dorian, who gave her a small smile.

"Yea…well…shit, girl." She almost laughed. They gathered some chairs around her desk.

"Well…what happened? How long was I out?" they both knew she wanted elaboration on the events after Corypheus's defeat. Elsa came over and began to braid her hair, her deft and delicate fingers soothing against her scalp.

"Only a couple of days, and you woke up a few hours after we returned to Skyhold ourselves." Began Dorian "I figured you wouldn't want to be out long, but would rather…work things out here." He poured her a drink of water from a pitcher on her desk, which she accepted with a small thanks and then drained. Varric chuckled and continued the story.

"Well, after you blew Corypheus out of the sky and the plugged the hole in the sky, everything went rather nuts, as you can imagine. We sent Iron Bull and the others ahead to…distract the Inquisition so we could get you home without people paying attention." She nodded, abashed and grateful.

"Thank you, Varric. I'm…I'm sorry for how I reacted." Shame rose from her heart, but Varric waved his hand at her dismissively.

"It's nothing. I just try to help when I can."

"It's not nothing, at all…I can't thank you enough…" she continued. Varric interrupted her.

"Seriously…don't mention it. You will ruin my reputation for being a davishing, uncaring rogue." But his eyes were soft as they held hers. She just smiled then, eyes glistening, love filling her as she looked at her two friends. She might have lost her heart, but certainly not all of it. Maybe it was possible to overcome what were sure to be some rough days ahead.

Varric went on tell her about their journey back to Skyhold, which had taken a few days. Cole had stayed with them both, and Cassandra returned shortly after they left the decimated temple after sending a raven to Leliana, who arrived on a lathered horse later the next day accompanied by two of her lieutenants. After some brief discussion, they set off again, traveling quietly and unobtrusively through the mountains across the same path they first traveled to reach Skyhold on their retreat from Haven.

The Nightingale managed to sneak them into the castle through some prison tunnels, where they simply waited for Dorian's magic to fade and her to awaken.

"Ruffles is beside herself with preparations for the celebration, and hopes that you will be able address all the dignitaries that are flooding through the gates sometime soon." Arya sighed regretfully, wishing to do absolutely anything besides put on her politicking face and greet the sycophants. Varric saw her apprehension.

"Don't worry, we've got your back. You can face them whenever you wish. We certainly would understand if you wanted to wait a bit." She shook her head emphatically.

"Gods, no. Let's get this over with when I have some wind in my sails." She faked a smile to hide her dread, but squared her shoulders and stood, heading towards the door with her friends at her heels.

Those few days were hell for her. The one thing everyone wanted to talk to her about was the one thing she was trying desperately to keep from thinking about: Solas.

Every single member of her party came up to ask her about it, but she refused to talk about it. She knew that they were trying to help, that they were concerned for her, but she just couldn't discuss about him with anyone, not yet. Her biggest concern was meeting Cole, who was surprisingly absent for the entire day.

That first day was the worst: it was a long, painful, and tested her emotional endurance to the maximum, but she made it through. It was only when Elsa left her for the night that she crawled into her bed and wept silently into the covers. Unable to sleep for fear of what painful memories her dreams might bring, she threw off the covers and stood, pulling on a robe. She decided to greet the stars, hoping to take comfort one of the few constants of her life: the thousands, millions of twinkling stars.

When she opened a door to the balcony, she saw Cole for the first time since she awoke. He was sitting facing the mountains, feet dangling over the edge of the balcony, do his characteristic rocking, face hidden under his hat. She tied her robe around herself more tightly and approached him.

"Lonely. Hurt. My fault." He greeted her, eyes sad.

"Yea…well…what else did you expect?" The words weren't rancid, but soft, accepting. She knew she would be unable to avoid talking about what plagued her most with Cole, who must see into her unhappy thoughts, with her heart screaming in pain as it was. But he didn't speak again for several minutes. They sat staring at the mountains together, the snowcapped mountains twinkling as they reflected the light of the moon and stars.

"I'm sorry that he hurt you." Cole said simply.

"Thank you, Cole."

Arya was trying to work through a way to ask if…if he had any messages for her, if he could find a way to talk to him for her, to ask why he left. She had yet to enter his room in the tower, fearing her controlled calm around her subjects would be upended by entering his personal space in her castle.

She assumed her grief echoed her thoughts in Cole's mind, and thus, felt no need to give voice to her questions.

"Solas, bright and sad, observes and accepts. Spirit self, seeing the soul, Solas, but somehow sorrows."

The words were familiar, he had told them to her before, but deduced no more from their meaning now than when he first uttered them to her.

"He didn't want to leave you. His thoughts were so strong, so sad, and he knew he would hurt you, so he didn't want to leave you. But he had to."

"Why? Why did he have to, Cole?" she asked urgently, hoping he would know. Cole blinked at her, then turned from her, resuming his rocking.

"He hates it all because of the Darkness behind the door. Some doors should stay shut." She huffed in frustration with his riddles, turning away from him, angry at herself for being mad at him. He couldn't help who he was.

"I'm sorry, Cole, but with your gift, I fear that you might see the path I now must walk in solitude forever" Arya had looked up, hope filling her heart as the familiar timbre of Solas's voice rang through the spirit of compassion. She whirled abruptly, approaching him, her breath caught in her throat as she hung onto his words, and she found herself unable to move, to breathe, but stood…waiting in awe, her hands wringing together.

"The fate is mine alone. Indeed, I would not wish it on an enemy, much less someone that I once cared for."

Once…cared for? Did he not care for her still? Desperate and heartbroken, she hung onto his every word, hoping for explanation.

"Though you reach out in compassion…I must now insist that you…_forget_." The spirit shook itself, the wobbling of his hat made the motion all the more accentuated.

"I'm…what were we talking about?" He seemed taken aback at her proximity, the tears streaming openly down her face as she stared at him intensely.

"Hoping, hungry, heartbroken, hearing his voice….hurts…" He seemed confused by her thoughts.

"Did…he speak through me? Did he make me forget?" Disappointed, she nodded glumly, wiping her tears from her face, her grief fresh from Solas's words.

"I'm sorry…I don't…I don't remember." She nodded, unable to process this new development just yet.

"Do…do you want me to help you forget?" his question startled her, but not nearly so much as her want to make the pain disappear. To forget Solas….what he meant to her…what he taught her…

To forget…his face, the feel of his hands on her flesh, his excitement at sharing his world in the Fade with her, his eyes as he made love to her…no….she didn't want to forget. She didn't need to answer him for him to know.

"He loves you." The proximity of the whisper made her jump, as she felt the breath against he pointed ear. Annoyed at being startled and overwhelmed with the new development, she composed herself enough to scold and turned to find the balcony deserted. He had vanished.

Loves you. Not loved. Loves. Does he? Cole has no reason to lie to her, and didn't even know if spirits _could_ lie…demons could lie, certainly. She sighed, and gathered up her nightclothes, fighting frantically to not cry.

A horrible realization came to her as she went to the washroom to ready herself for bed. Having been completely cared for by Elsa earlier, she hadn't needed to check her appearance in the mirror. As she glanced into the reflective glass, she was taken aback by how alien her face appeared for lack of her vallaslin. Even if he loved her, she'd be reminded with every glance in a mirror that he left her, barefaced and alone. Anger swelled in her heart and her glowing fist shot out into the mirror's face, shattering the glass and sending pieces flying everywhere.

Her entire world was a damn lie.

_You were a mistake. You should never have existed_

Her people's culture, including her vallaslin, her love. All lies. All just one big joke after another at her expense. She collapsed onto the floor, burying her face in her hands, but she remembered Dorian's words about how she had to be a leader for them all.

She had to move on. And now…I must endure.

People need me. I shall try to move on. I can do it. I will do it. I will show them all. I will show _him_.

Maybe one day, he will come for me. I can look forward to that.

But I'm certainly not going to expect it.

And so here she was, alone, scared, and cold as she watched her people celebrate their victory, her victory in the castle courtyard below. Some moments were better than others, and she allowed herself these weak moments in private at the top of her keep, in the dark, out of prying eyes. She accepted these moments of doubt, for they allowed her to keep up her act in the daylight. It was necessary.

She remembered Cassandra's words about happiness being second to the duty of others. She wished she could be so selfless. She certainly tried.

And she would continue to try until the day she died, love or no love. She looked to the starry sky, and called out gently.

"Please, vhenan…please come back to me." The night remained cold and silent, and she sighed.

"And so now…I must endure."

* * *

><p>AN: Again, I promise the sads will be done after this chapter, at least mostly! The next few chapters are fluffs because fluffs are very, very much needed after that endgame. Curse you, Weekes! But not really, please keep writing! :D


	3. Affirmation

Solas's dialogue is _extremely_ hard to write. Sheesh. Even more kudos to Weekes.

As I promised, fluffs! With some DA:Origins, to boot!

Enjoy this Christmas present from me, lovelies. I hope you all have a wonderful holiday!

* * *

><p>Affirmation<p>

Although they had left Crestwood before the sun's rays crested over the mountains, the journey to Lake Calenhad still took most of the day. Alistair's presence proved to be invaluable, as they were warned of a darkspawn ambush shortly after resuming the trek following their noonday meal. He requested they let a scout escape, which bolted immediately, scampering quickly out of sight, shrieking in its guttural language. The Grey Warden was easily able to follow the creature, leading them to a cave in a hillside that tunneled deep underground and merged with a highway of the Deep Roads. Arya had wished to look around, but Alistair sharply advised against it: there was a heavy patrol driving straight towards them. She sighed regretfully and motioned for Solas, Dorian, and Hawke to join her. The four mages pooled their magic and collapsed the cave's ceiling, effectively sealing the entrance of the encroaching patrol and preventing further darkspawn threats.

When they emerged back into daylight, Hawke dropped back to consult with Dorian about some academic magic, leaving Alistair's side for the first time that morning. Varric took advantage of Alistair's solitude and walked next to him, glancing only momentarily back to where Dorian and Hawke conversed before he turned and trotted back up beside Alistair. Arya hid a grin.

As they traveled that morning, she was amused to see Varric's displeasure at his displacement at Hawke's side by the young Grey Warden – the rogue and mage had been inseparable since they left Skyhold on their way to the Storm Coast. She saw the jealousy simmer under the dwarf's skin, but he regally yielded his post, walking silently behind the two human friends as they conversed. He was now chatting amiable with Alistair, apparent jealousy forgotten.

She also observed that Blackwall seemed in awe of the young Grey Warden, which Arya found surprising, since Alistair seemed to be many years Blackwall's junior. True, he was the companion and love of the Hero of Fereldan, Warden-Commander of the country she saved, but there seemed to more to it than mere admiration. She would have to ask him of it later, for conversation was almost completely discouraged as she fought to keep pace with long-legged Alistair.

As Alistair had traveled this land before in his own quest, she gladly let him lead and set their pace, the latter of which she slightly regretted. However, she was delighted in being able to walk beside Solas. Normally, the hedge mage brought up the rear of their expedition party while she led the way, ensuring they would be thoroughly prepared for any unexpected magical attacks. It was wise setup, but she would only ever see her friend for their lunch and when they stopped to camp for the night.

As much as she enjoyed the companionable silence she shared with the elf of whom she frequently stole glances, she desperately wished to question Alistair further about his love, but recognized the sadness in his voice as he spoke of her before. Their separation obviously pained him deeply, and her heart went out to him. Duty was such a terrible burden at times, and they deserved a chance to be together if the stories she heard about them were even remotely true. As such, she respected his privacy and wished to cause him no more distress. Hopefully he would speak of her in the days to come as they made their speedy hike back to Skyhold.

What she wanted most was not even the details of their adventure and of the Fifth Blight, but to learn more about who the Hero _was_, for she was also Dalish, albeit from the Southern Clans. She wanted to know how the famed Hero had dealt with her situation in being thrust into the center of a world-altering disaster to save people who still cast her aside by nature of her birth.

Varric, she noticed, had absolutely no problem barraging the Warden with questions, and kept up an almost constant dialogue as they walked. The reason for his seeking to walk beside the young man became obvious even as he struggled to keep up with him, his short strides almost absurdly rapid. The ginger dwarf's discomfort was obviously worth how uncomfortable his questions were making the likable Grey Warden, who didn't seem to enjoy the attention.

After a while of the questioning, she saw Alistair turn and survey the dwarf thoroughly, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"You're that…that writer from Kirkwall, aren't you? Author of 'Hard in Hightown?'"

Varric chuckled, "Oh, yes. Among other things. It's one of my bestsellers. Did you like it?"

Alistair hesitated.

"You're not….you're not going write anything about the things I have been telling you, are you? About _her_? Us? There's already enough stories out there already, and I _still_ get fan mail from the noble ladies in Orlais wishing to console me and my 'tragic circumstances'." Varric roared with laughter, but Alistair did not look pleased.

"Of course they'd write you! The forbidden love between the bastard prince of the Fereldan and the heathen Dalish elf - Grey Wardens who fell for each other in spite of, or perhaps _because of_ the war against the Darkspawn in the Fifth Blight! Whose loved conquered all the horrors they faced!"

Alistair scowled outright. Varric laughed lightly then, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Alright, I'll stop. But truly, your story _is_ rather incredible, and I think I could add a certain...spark to it. I would like to explore it another time when the circumstances aren't so…." He searched for a word.

"Shitty." He finished. Alistair almost snorted.

"You're a world famous writer, and you can't come up with a better adjective for this situation than 'shitty'?" Varric shrugged, unconcerned.

"It fits." Was all he offered in reply.

Arya exchanged a sly glance with Solas, who smirked back at her.

A few hours after that, they came to the edge of the lake. Alistair stopped and glanced across the gentle waves, face brooding as he grimaced. He pointed south along the shoreline.

"Fereldan's Circle of Magi was housed in a tower about a half day's ride to the south along this coast." His tone was neutral, but she felt fear emanating from the warrior. Cullen had spoken little about his experience when the Circle Tower fell, and she recognized that now was not the time to ask Alistair for elaboration. Most accounts of the incident were vague, but all agreed that Alistair and the Hero of Fereldan saved the Circle's mages from certain destruction at the hands of fanatic blood mages.

They fell silent, their thoughts grave with the imagined horrors that took place there, and followed Alistair as he turned away, keeping the water's edge to his left. Arya eyed the setting sun warily.

"We should think about stopping soon – we only have an hour or so of good daylight left." She saw Alistair nod, but he didn't turn around or slow his pace.

"I know of a defensible place to camp. We came by here so frequently, we even marked the path." He pointed to a tree in their forest to the right, where a large rune was gouged into the ancient bark. Arya frowned, disapproving.

"You couldn't have found a way to mark the place without hurting the tree?" Alistair, to her surprise, chuckled. He even stopped and folded his arms as he turned to survey the tree in subject.

"Haha, yea…_she_ voiced the same protest even as Sten was carving it. I remember he stopped, giant knife in hand, and stared at her incredulously. I mean…I assumed it was incredulous…I could never discern his expression. I think his exact words were, 'It's just a _tree._'" Alistair chuckled "I think in hindsight, he was thankful all she did was throw a knife at him and forbade him to harm any more." He smirked, eyes distant with the memory.

"She threw a _knife_ at him? Wasn't he a member of your party?" Arya asked, aghast. It seemed so out of character from the great, compassionate hero she had heard so much about. Alistair turned and laughed outright at her horrified expression.

"Of course. Sten was an…odd bird, as are most Qunari. It was one of the few ways she asserted her strength and made him respect her. And also one of the things that prevented him from snapping her back over his knee like a twig: fear of a dagger between the eyes would do that, I guess. I don't think I've ever seen a more interesting relationship. I still don't quite understand it…but that was part of the magic of her…everyone eventually came to love and respect her." His brows furrowed and she noted the slight droop of his shoulders before he turned and continued walking.

Questions buzzed around Arya's skull, but the Warden was too far from her before she formulated any of them well enough to reach her lips. She glanced at Solas, who was smiling, his eyes distant.

"What?" she asked him, curious and still slightly flabbergasted. He grinned as his blue eyes found hers, twinkling mischievously. He said nothing, but cocked his head slightly as he extended his hand after Varric and Alistair, in a wordless _after you_.

She watched him suspiciously, then resumed walking and felt him continue his pace beside her.

About ten minutes later, Alistair pointed to a tree where a small Dalish wind chime hung from a branch, tinkling in the evening wind. She smiled as she caught sight of it, for her clan often made such charms and left them in places that they wished to find again. She moved towards it to gain a better look. Solas came up behind her, also gazing at the wooden bauble. The Hero herself must have made this trinket, over a decade ago. She spoke softly, slightly awed.

"I'm glad to see some things about our culture seem to be universal." Her feelings were complex. She was impressed, nostalgic, jealous…Jealous?

"I have seen many of these in my travels, only the materials from which they were crafted seem to differ." Solas responded, scrutinizing the ornament. "Each is unique, reflecting both the land and clan which created it." She nodded, excited.

"Inquisitor?" the voice was Cassandra's. Arya called back and left the charm reluctantly, glancing back over her shoulder once more at it as she trotted to catch up with the Seeker.

They followed the water's edge and came upon a stream that fed into the lake from the mountains to the north. As Alistair turned into the treeline to follow the stream, Arya glanced up to smile at another Dalish chime in a large pine.

They followed Alistair as he trudged uphill along the stream's edge, climbing over boulders and around large ancient trees in his ascent. About a quarter mile further upstream, the ground flattened as the stream emptied out into a large pond, the water churning from the small waterfall that fed it. She grinned through her mildly ragged breathing, surveying the spot Alistair had led them to.

The place was almost serene, with the picturesque waterfall feeding into the clear-watered pond. It bordered a small, grassy clearing where a small stack of firewood was rested against a fire ring demarcated with small rocks. It was just enough space for a small party of theirs to make camp, where they would be protected by the rockface that housed the waterfall and the pond on two sides.

Alistair let out a satisfied sigh. "Ah….just as I remember it." He removed his pack and shield, setting the latter against the rock face that bore the waterfall. He then began a systematic removal of his splint mail, signaling that this was indeed the spot to which he lead them.

As Arya surveyed the pond, a large fat fish erupted from its surface and fell back down with a splash. She grinned. She wouldn't need to hunt in the woods for their dinner that night.

"I have a fish hook in my pack, if the Lady Inquisitor would like to fish." The gruff voice was Blackwall's. She turned, smiling at him.

"I appreciate the offer, sir, but I have no need of a fish hook." She grinned at him as he raised one of his eyebrows. "You'll see."

"As you wish."

Their party chattered excitedly as they arrived, collectively pleased with the idealistic shelter. The clearing was just large enough for a decently sized cookfire to warm their tents without fear of ignition if they pitched them at the treeline. With the ease of people who have spent months of travel together, they each began their respective camp chores.

Varric set his crossbow next to Alistair's shield and went to find firewood to add to the existing pile. Cassandra and Blackwall helped each other out of their armor, sitting together in companionable silence with Alistair as they began to polish the darkspawn blood from the plate mail. Dorian unpacked their tents. Hawke disappeared with Solas in search for edible plants and to set wards along the edge of the camp. Cole was, as usual, nowhere to be seen. She still had no idea what he did with his time. They normally wouldn't see him until after they set out the following morning.

Arya assumed her usual role as huntress, the provider of the evening's meat. There would be no reason to leave the camp in search of game with what she expected was an ample supply of fish in the pond. She eagerly stripped off her armored leather, placing it beside the warriors' pile of plate mail, then removed her overshirt and breeches, leaving her in her smallclothes and her undershirt that covered her breasts and torso, but left her shoulders and arms bare. Alistair raised his eyebrows, but averted his eyes in respect. Blackwall didn't look at her at all.

Shameless, she waded into the pond and shivered as the cold water siphoned the heat from her legs. She used her magic to warm the water immediately adjacent to her skin to spare herself from catching a chill, then bent her legs, right arm raised, ready to strike.

She waited, braced, for the fish to be curious enough to approach her. After a few minutes, a half dozen surrounded her legs, swimming around her in curiosity. A particularly large one swam right in front of her and she pounced, hand slapping the fish from the water and out onto the dry land, where it flopped. Slightly guilty at the misery she caused it as it suffocated, she waited for the other fish to return to her. They were stupid animals, certainly, but she hated to cause unnecessary suffering.

After the third fish, Solas had returned and began chopping the heads off of the fish as she slapped them from the water. She shot him a grateful glance and he nodded, smiling as he sat to watch her as she continued her hunt.

All the more nervous with the knowledge that Solas was watching her, she found her concentration waned each time she watched him deftly catch the fish she flung from the water, ending its life with a deft slice of his sharp traveler's knife before sliding his knife up the belly and removing its entrails.

After a while, it became a game, seeing how far from him she could send the flying fish so that he'd have to scramble to catch them, yet he still managed to catch every single one. His speed was incredible, and his grin widened when he realized what she was doing. Her heart skipped at beat.

In truth, he had only set wards around the camp, leaving Hawke to scour for food, giving in to his curiosity to see how she planned to provide fish for them after her polite refusal of Blackwall's offer of a fish-hook. He had never watched her fish before, wondering if this talent was common amongst her people or if it was another quirky skill she managed to perfect over her travels. He admired her concentration and competency as she stalked her prey.

He also enjoyed how he could observe her without her noticing where his eyes traveled, slightly irritated her legs were available for all of their party to admire, made all the more beautiful as the setting sun's rays glistened off of the water droplets on her muscular thighs and calves as she crouched. He felt his pulse quicken with arousal, annoyed with himself at his partaking in the guilty pleasure.

In her attempt to fling a fish too far away for him to catch, her feet flew out from under her as her balance failed. She fell backwards on her bottom into the stream with a squawk, water splashing and drenching her shirt. She laughed and checked to see if he had caught the fish. He had. She scowled.

"That's what I get for trying to be fancy, I suppose."

Her shirt clung to her breasts as she stood, laughing, nipples hardening instantly in the chill air. Her small breasts had no need of a breastband, so the wet fabric left nothing to the imagination. Solas felt his breath catch in his throat. He only barely managed to keep his eyes from bulging as he stared at her with longing. She must've caught the intensity of his gaze for she looked down at her shirt and its new transparency. He saw her face flush pink, but as she caught his eyes, she winked seductively. He tried to hide the hunger from his face as he maintained her gaze. She turned from him, then, making sure he caught a full view of her bum as she bent forward suggestively, feigning looking for more fish.

He kept heat from rising in his face, but could do nothing to prevent the rush of heat to his groin as she teased him, knowing that he yet to physically act on any of her flirtations beyond benign touches and that one kiss in the Fade. Her boldness made her all the more attractive to him.

He hurried back to his spot next to the large pile of fish with his new prize, noticing how the party was pretending to not watch their game, save for Blackwall, who was opening staring at Arya. Solas was unable to prevent the snarl that curled his lip upward as he bared his teeth possessively at the warrior. Sensing Solas's glare, Blackwall's gaze was torn from the elven woman and looked at him, and turned away hastily as he resumed polishing his armor. Solas caught Varric's smirk, but ignored him.

They continue the game until she had almost two dozen fish. Night had almost fallen, and the camp members had finished their chores and sat watching them. Solas was relieved to see that Arya's shirt had dried to provide some semblance of decency.

They feasted on roasted fish that night, sighing happily, bellies warm and full. Arya particularly enjoyed its pairing with the salty brown bread they had bought from the villagers as they left Storm Coast.

Night had fallen completely by that point, and Arya removed herself from the fire, using the excuse of grabbing the pile of fish guts to dump near the lake, far from their camp.

She took a circuitous route back to camp, emerging on the other side of the pond from her party, concealed in the long shadows cast by their campfire. In its light, she climbed up the slippery rockface and emerged in a garden of boulders. A large oak had fallen across the mouth of the waterfall, suspended by two large, moss covered rocks. She pressed her palm to the ancient wood, sending her magic to probe deep inside the tree.

_Tell me you secrets, Grandfather, s_he called to the oak.

Like most ancient oaks, he met his end from a storm – his great boughs unable to yield to the harsh wind as his trunk was ripped from the earth, roots succumbing in their age as they were forcefully torn from the soft earth of the advancing stream bed.

She leaped onto his great body, walking nimbly out to the mouth of the tiny waterfall. She left her bare toes dip into the cool, churning water, watching as it gushed, plummeting over the ledge. She sighed, relaxing in the privacy of the quiet roar of the waterfall. If she leaned to her left, she could see her party members in the clearing below, circled around the campfire - Varric was mending a shirt while Cassandra, Blackwall, and Hawke chatted with Alistair. Cassandra and Hawke had their heads tilted back in raucous laughter as Alistair gesticulated comically, then laughed himself.

Just then, Arya felt her skin tingle with a familiar magic – Solas's: he was searching for her. She cast her thoughts behind her into the woods, calling to him with her magic, not entirely surprised he was on this upper plateau with her. She felt a brief acknowledgement as his mind brushed hers.

The tree quivered slightly as Solas stepped onto the giant trunk, the vibrations of his footsteps her only indication she was no longer alone as he made his way toward her perch on the natural pier on bare feet. She smiled as he dropped to sit beside her, his arm encircling her waist as he settled himself comfortably onto the wood. Her breath caught in her throat – it was one of the first times he had initiated contact with her in such an intimate way. She felt her pulse quicken and heat rise in her face. Luckily, it was dark.

"This place is quite beautiful." The voice in her ear was soft, barely audible over the rushing water. She nodded her head faintly in agreement, enjoying the feel of his breath on her neck. She turned her head towards him and he lifted his chin so that his lips brushed her ear gently, pulling back in a grin as she shivered at the touch. Embarrassed, she turned from him and lifted her head to gaze at the sky. It was yet still too light for the stars to appear.

"Yes." She agreed finally. "I am glad that Alistair shared it with us. I imagine this place is dear to him." The waterfall would eliminate the words of their conversation, so she allowed herself to enjoy the time alone with him. He pressed his forehead against the fabric of her shirt, bringing his other hand to rest on her knee.

"And rightfully so. This place is heavy with magic, can you feel it?" She thought about it, finding it hard to concentrate with the novel feeling of him touching her.

"My senses are dulled by the neighboring water…the stream, the raging waterfall. And while I find the sound soothing, the fire in my blood is quieted. Water isn't the best friend of fire." She grinned and felt him chuckle against her.

"Indeed. While I sometimes find myself envious in your control of such a primal element, I am glad my I don't have such opposing forces to my nature." She shrugged, unconcerned.

"We can't _all_ be perfect." He laughed outright at that.

"Meaning that I think myself perfect?" She felt him smirk. "While I do like myself and my talents, I am beyond perfect. As is anyone."

"Your perpetual smugness would suggest otherwise," she said through a grin. His grip around her waist tightened.

"Possibly." He was silent for a while, and she allowed her thoughts to drift to their new party member and his mate. How she wished she could justify peppering Alistair with questions about his Dalish love. After her mind completed this thought, Solas broke the silence.

"When we retire for the evening, I have something I would like to show you." His words seemed harmless, but they sent her heart pumping in joy. She knew he meant they'd be spending another night together in the Fade.

"Oh?" She asked innocently, trying to hide her enthusiasm.

"Yes. I imagine it will answer certain questions you have been unwilling to voice as of late." She wanted to inquire further, but knew it would be wiser if she just waited: Solas was not only intensely insightful, but he was also a showman through and through - his teachings were meticulously designed to maximize their effect. She enjoyed being able to go along for the ride, basking in yielding control to her proficient companion.

But his immediacy was too rare for her to yet return to her party's inspecting eyes, so she sat and watched the stars appear with him, deeply aware of each part of their skin that touched, reveling in their closeness.

Eventually, the night caused the air to chill, and they sought the sanctuary and warmth of their campfire. There were a few raised eyebrows as they climbed down the rockface together, but all of them had the good sense to not comment - they already knew something was brewing between the two elves. Blackwall coughed and shifted uncomfortably.

She spent a while with her companions around the fire, listening to Varric tell a comical story about a thief who tried to steal from the Hawke mansion. Hawke interjected occasionally, adding comments and correcting his embellishments. Her companions laughed, and when the storyteller concluded his tale, she took the opportunity to transition to sleep, eager to meet Solas.

"Who would like first watch this night? I will sit the one in the morning."

To her surprise, Alistair and Varric simultaneously answered "I will," then looked at each other, trying to decide if they should reconsider.

"Excellent!" she replied, effectively discouraging protest from either of them. "You two have fun!" She winked outrageously at them, earning a laugh from the dwarf as she turned away from the fire and toward the tent Dorian had set up for her. She picked up her pack that had been placed at its entrance and brought it into the tent with her.

She untied her bedroll from the bottom of the pack and spread it out. She climbed into it eagerly, nestling into the soft furs and closed her eyes, waiting for sleep to claim her.

* * *

><p>She found herself standing in the same clearing that they camped, the colors distorted and overly bright, signifying her presence in the Fade. The tents had disappeared, but everything was exactly as she remembered – the waterfall, the rockface, even the ancient oak as it straddled the mouth of the waterfall.<p>

A large Mabari bounded from the edge of the forest where the stream led to the lake, barking excitedly. It ran towards her, and Arya stumbled backward briefly in alarm, her instinct of self-preservation making her momentarily forget that she could not interact with memories in the Fade. Indeed, even as she recovered from her initial shock, she warily eyed the great dog.

She hadn't ever met a Mabari of this size, whose great head was almost level with her eyes as she approached it. The giant animal could easily rip off her arm in its mighty jaws. Its powerful muscles rippled as it skidded to a halt in the center of the clearing, upending grass and a few leaves that had fallen. It pranced in a happy circle then, and stood watching the place from whence it came, tail wagging, waiting. Arya approached the impressive beast, amazed at the sheer size of it.

"Surely all Mabari are not this large." She said in wonder and slight disbelief, unable to take her eyes from the magnificent animal. She heard a familiar chuckle and jumped. Solas had found her, as he always had, waiting until she was distracted before making his presence known.

"Indeed, they are not. I think that this particular Mabari, however, was rather unique not only in size, but in caliber of spirit. I imagine those who influence this memory thought so, as well."

"Why? What's so special about him? Beyond easily being able to eat me whole." Solas smirked, amused at her needless caution, but did not answer. When she looked back at him, wanting explanation, he shook his head at her, gesturing toward the trees where the Mabari stared expectantly. She sighed, slightly annoyed, but trusted him.

A small woman burst from the treeline, sprinting toward them, and the Mabari bowed, slapping the ground with his paws and then turned in a joyful circle, barking happily in greeting. When she saw the dog, the woman's shoulders drooped and her head fell back in apparent exasperation and her feet plodded to a stop, the two criss-crossing belts of knives around her torso clinked against her plated leather armor. The woman was small in frame and lithe, but even without the physical clues, Arya would've instantly recognized one of her kinsman. The elven woman had her bushy brown hair pulled back in a horse's tail, her pointed ears barely visible through the thick mane.

The newcomer then let her torso fall forward, bracing her hands on her bent knees, head falling forward as she fought to catch her breath.

"You…little…ugh. Do you know how..._steep_ that hill is?!" The words came through gasping breaths as she panted.

The Mabari bounded toward her, woofing, halting in front of his mistress. She watched as the warhound cocked its head to one side and whined, begging attention.

"Why, pray….did we need to _run_?!"

The woman lunged forward in an attempt to wrap her tiny arms around the great beast's neck. The dog jumped backward just enough so that she overshot her lunge and fell forward into the grass with an "oof!" and she lay there, panting. The hound barked a laugh, nuzzling her head. Arya heard the woman laugh a musical laugh as the dog rolled her over, licking her face enthusiastically.

"Fenedhis! Enough, ma'fen! You great beast." The dog woofed and backed away, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth in a dog laugh. She sat up, a few pieces of dried grass stuck to her hair.

Arya stooped to examine her, trying to place her, determine her significance. The woman was still breathing heavily as she grinned, holding a hand out to the dog, who licked it enthusiastically before trotting off back toward the break in the trees, following the stream as it rolled down the mountain. She smiled fondly at the retreating animal.

Arya could only stare at this woman, who literally shone, exuding a power that she was unsure was a just a conjuration of the Fade. She was certainly Dalish, her angular face marked with the vallasin of her people. She studied the markings and determined that she was pledged to Anduril, the goddess of the hunt. Arya grinned in approval. She, herself, had spent considerable time deciding between the Huntress and the Protector, and eventually conceded to her heart's wish of pledging to Mythal.

This woman's armor was of human make, but fit well - a supple leather enforced by light metal plates overlaying chain mail. The armor was both attractive and utilitarian, obviously made by a master craftsman. As she first noted, this woman wore two belts that criss-crossed her torso, each sporting an impressive collection of throwing knives, sheathed in scaled leather. Two longer knives were sheathed at her belt, and the handles were black, inlaid with silver – ironbark, the sign they were made by a master Dalish craftsmen.

Arya studied the woman's face, trying greatly to place who she was. She must be someone of great importance, else Solas would not have brought her here to this moment. Her look was one of the southern elves, her olive skin complementing her dark brown hair and eyes. A few wisps of hair had escaped their confinement, and others were plastered to her face by dog saliva. She seemed to not mind, but sat, waiting, staring at the direction in which her dog trotted.

Arya was sure she was missing something. Mabari were human animals…she had only ever seen them as part of human hunting parties…what was one doing with an elf?

Arya felt a hand on her shoulder and grasped it, looking up into Solas's smug expression. As it was beginning to dawn on her, she was distracted by a shout.

"Ilyara!" Arya jumped. It was a male's voice.

A large, familiar blonde man emerged through the trees, panting as he was followed by the happy Mabari, who immediately ran past him to greet the elven woman by licking her face. Laughing, she shoved the animal off, breaking into a wide grin at the sight of the human. His armor was bronzed splint mail, worn and dented, but well cared for. He was so familiar...but it was the mirrored griffon on his pauldron that gave him away.

Arya gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in her shock. No…

"It's….it's Alistair." she breathed out the words in wonder, and felt the slight squeeze of Solas's hand on her shoulder in confirmation.

"Then that means…." She turned back to the brunette elf, awestruck, watching as the human approached her with the goofy grin of love on his face. The still winded elf smiled broadly back at him, holding her hands out to the man. Alistair took them, pulling her to her feet so roughly that she was lifted off of the ground and crashed into his chest. Laughing, her arms wrapped around him, and he kissed her neck sweetly. She giggled, turning her head so that her lips captured his. She melted against him, his large hands easily able to support her tiny armored frame against him as one of her feet rose.

Now she understood.

"That's…she's the Hero of Fereldan."

"_Yes_." His voice was pleased. Her next words were interrupted by a new voice.

"Oh…how _revolting_." A sour female voice intruded upon the tender moment, and they broke apart instantly, Alistair's face reddening in a blush as he set the elf down hurriedly. Ilyara, unimpressed, glanced back to a half-naked woman carrying a staff capped by a large talon, beaded feathers clinking from its base as she planted the weapon into the ground, scowling at them. Ilyara cocked an eyebrow at the newcomer.

"If it disgusts you so, you can just…you know…_not_ look." The tone wasn't quite hostile, but it wasn't friendly, either. She turned back to laugh at the flushed face of her love.

"If that were the case, I would be forever stumbling into things, attempting to avoid the way you paw at one another constantly." The human woman's eyes turned distant as she surveyed the clearing, walking past them in an almost-daze.

"This…this is place of wonder." The woman walked forward then, ignoring the pair as she extended her hands in apparent basking. "I wonder why your mangy beast led us here…" The coupled watched her approach the waterfall, then shrugged at each other.

A large, hornless Qunari then emerged from the trees, face expressionless as he observed them, then surveyed their surroundings.

"This is an acceptable place to make camp." He said simply, and shrugged his large pack from his shoulder. He unsheathed a great waraxe and made for the treeline.

She watched with amusement as the Qunari approached a young tree and drew the great weapon back, only to halt in midswing by the shriek of the tiny elf as she ran toward to the giant man, waving her arms, gesticulating wildly at the trees in exasperation as she berated the Qunari. Sten stood stoically, watching her without expression, and only put his axe down when she was done, red faced with her fists clenched at her side as she glared at him, quivering with anger. Arya couldn't help but laugh. The large man seemed unimpressed by her rage, and simply began to unpack tents, completely unaware that her own party lay camped there already in the present, a decade later.

"You think that he would have learned." The sassy voice sported a familiar accent, similar to that of Josephine's. She turned to see an elf appear from the forest.

She watched as they approached, people all but figures of legend. – Zevran, the elven Antivan Crow, Wynne, an elderly mage from the Circle, but the last figure to emerge she expected, but wasn't prepared to see.

"Leliana…." She exhaled as the Hero of Fereldan was momentarily forgotten.

The Nightingale was younger, certainly, and her face lacked the hard determination of the spymaster's, but it was Leliana, alright. She wore boiled leather emblazed with the golden sun of the Chantry with a quiver strung over one shoulder, a bow over the other. Arya took the opportunity to study her friend closely, whose young face was alive and gentle as she helped the large Qunari set up their tents. Her red hair was cropped short, and she frequently ran her fingers through it as it fell into her eyes as she bent to hammer stakes into the ground. Arya had yet to see Leliana with her hood down, sad that her friend forever walked cowled, only having Iron Bull's word that her hair was red.

When they finished with the tents, Leliana grabbed her pack and approached the fire where Wynne was preparing a large pot of stew. The ladies chatted briefly, then Leliana pulled a lute from her pack, plucking the strings and humming as she tuned the instrument. Ilyara appeared suddenly, excitedly sitting next to the red-haired bard. The Nightingale turned to grin at her and then began strumming a tune on the lute. Ilyara also broke into a wide grin, waiting expectantly. Arya approached them at the fire, sitting next to the elderly woman so that she could watch the bard and her hero.

Leliana began to sing a soft tune, her fingers plucking the strings in time. Her voice was as clear and sweet as Arya remembered it in their retreat from Haven, but now it sung about a human hunter when he became lost in a primeval forest. As she finished the verse, Arya was surprised to hear Ilyara continue the second verse about the hunter meeting a Dalish elf whom he fell in love with instantly. She was a beautiful alto, her voice happy and rich, and it complemented Leliana's well when she joined in for the third verse, where they sang in harmony about how the hunter was accidentally slain by her clan members when she brought him back to tell them of their love. When they finished, Arya became aware of the tears that streamed down her face, completely overwhelmed.

She felt warmth at her side as Solas knelt beside her, saying nothing. She was silent for a long time as she watched the party interact around the campfire, trying to sort out her feelings. As much as she enjoyed watching them, she still couldn't determine what Solas was trying to demonstrate by bringing her to this place in time. The group seemed…so normal, such a stark contrast from the titanic figures of near-myth she had heard about. You would never have known that they battled darkspawn and werewolves and the traitorous armies of men if you looked at this one snapshot in time, their troubles seemed to be forgotten or ignored well.

The longer she watched, the less she saw of the Hero of Fereldan and her legendary companions…and the more she saw a group of diverse friends make camp and enjoy each other's company as they waited for night to fall.

Her next words were awed as the thought occurred to her.

"They're…they're just like us. Just like how we set up our own camp this evening."

"Yes."

"But…" Her voice was soft, and she found her disquiet and wonder hard to put into words. It wasn't that she was disappointed, but she imagined the Hero of Fereldan to be more…heroic. Not a woman who shrieked when she got upset, or shared a cute moment with her love that got interrupted by a friend.

"Are you displeased?" she heard hurt in his voice for the first time and turned to him, her eyes bright, glistening.

"No, it's…it's _wonderful._" She said truthfully. His expression softened as he gazed at her, his blue eyes intelligent as he inspected her face. He brought a hand up to her cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb tenderly. She covered his hand with hers as it rested against her cheek, closing her eyes as she turned her head into it.

"She's so…_real_." She felt him nod, and she could feel him collecting his thoughts and knew he would elaborate if she waited patiently - his adventures always had a rhythm, and he seemed to delight in explaining his teachings as much he enjoyed her figuring them out on her own. And this time, she needed some elucidation.

Solas's voice was quiet when he spoke.

"I listened as you questioned Alistair about Ilyara, heard the fervor and longing in your voice. I understand your want to learn about a person you admire. Indeed, she is of your people, a figure of legend. You should admire her. You wonder what she was like, how she handled herself in the situation in which she was thrust against her will, if she was plagued with doubts." She felt him hesitate slightly.

"As you are now." She looked at him sharply, but his eyes were soft, too wise and perceptive as he gazed at her.

"And you sensed Alistair's pain and refused to add to it, regardless of how much you wished to learn about who she really was – not just the stories that you were told." He stopped, his tone lightening. Arya found herself unable to take her eyes off of Ilyara, who was now leaning against Alistair's knees where he sat, a bowl of stew in her hand.

"Tell me, da'len, what do you know of her? Do you know of her origin that set her on her quest?"

Arya nodded, confused. "From what I was told, she was infected somehow with darkspawn taint while exploring an ancient Elvhen ruin with her clanmate. Her clanmate died, but she survived. A Grey Warden happened to be passing by, intervened, and gave her a choice: to join the Wardens…or be slowly consumed by the taint." Solas nodded.

"The truth is more somewhat darker and more complex, but that is the essence of the story. She was torn from her clan and thrust into the world of human politics to be judged relentlessly by the very people she was trying to save. Luckily for us, her misfortune provided us a chance to combat the Blight, and she, as you are aware, triumphed quite spectacularly."

He paused, running his finger over her cheek. His calloused thumb was comforting, and she became aware at their immediacy in how he knelt beside her.

"I told you when we first met that every story has its hero, and I wondered what kind you will be. In this most recent adventure," he waved his hands at the fire around with Ilyara sat with her companions "The one preceding yours…the hero of the story is a Dalish woman just like yourself – one whose beginning is remarkably similar to your own." His fingers traveled from her cheek to her forehead, tracing the lines of her vallaslin. She drew in her breath, finally able to take her eyes from the Dalish elf. They had only ever talked of her vallaslin once before, as speaking of her people angered him. He had certainly never touched the marks before. He spoke quietly, hushed, almost lovingly.

"You revere _this_ woman as a hero, yet you insist to your friends and even strangers that you are just an ordinary person 'like everyone else'. The truth is, da'len, that you are no more ordinary than her, and she is remarkable."

"You must understand that this is precisely how others see you. You are an idol to them, 'Herald of Andraste,' and only a few will see you as the person that you are. But your title makes you no less a person than her title does, even though hers was given after the conclusion of her quest, while you attempt to live up to yours."

"I find myself perpetually amazed that you _are_ real. Your idealistic notions of love, restoration, and the goodness of people…it seems too romantic to be true."

"But you are here, as real as she is, and even you couldn't help but idolize her. History writes her as a character of legend, one whose deeds seem too unfeasible to be authentic, yet history is based in fact, and you can see for yourself that she _is_ like you. She had friends she relied upon, but she is as you insist to others – merely a person. A wise and brave person, as you are, but still a person."

"And this," he again indicated the campsite, "Is my way of giving you perspective. I can't elucidate on her motivations and desires, not even Alistair can do such a thing. But I _can_ show you how others saw her. And attempt to satisfy your insatiable curiosity." She grinned at him, and his eyes sparkled. "I wanted to show you what you were too kind to ask of Alistair. For even the words of her lover would not do her justice."

She felt tears brim in her eyes as she turned to watch the woman she admired since learning of her existence. Ilyara laughed with her comrades, lost her temper, must have made mistakes, but others still loved her and apparently believed in her. And if she, a Dalish elf, could accomplish such a great feat as slaying an Archdemon, maybe she could indeed lead her people to victory against Corypheus. She hadn't realized how greatly she needed the validation Solas was giving her, how much she truly doubted that she was a capable enough person to accomplish such a monumental task. It was so easy to doubt herself when the person she looked up to the most was idolized out of reality, someone too mighty to possibly emulate. And to be able to actual watch her in the past, as she was…even if it was through the eyes of spirits…

His gift was beyond priceless.

What mattered even more to her was how Solas spoke of her, as if he genuinely admired her and her decisions, as though he truly believed in her.

She looked up at him, emerald eyes thankful as she met his gaze.

"Ma serannas, Solas." She said sincerely, her eyes filled with admiration and love, wishing she could formulate more appropriate words to express her profound appreciation. Emboldened by his words of praise, she reached out and took his hand gently. She felt him stiffen, and was confused at his reticence. He had initiated touching her several times since that kiss in the Fade and had even touched her mere moments ago, his fingertips running gently over her face as he traced her blood writing. And while she promised to let him set the pace of their budding relationship, she assumed this was an announcement of his love and want of her. Especially with how hungrily he had watched her when she fished earlier that evening.

Her brows furrowed, her hopes dwindling when he didn't respond to her touch. His blue eyes were intense, calculating, unreadable. She felt tears brim in her eyes again and looked down, embarrassed and ashamed that she misread his signals. She tried to pull her hand away, but his grip tightened on her hand, preventing her from pulling away. Her eyes snapped back to his, unbidden hope rising in her heart.

His powerful eyes searched her face before his brows furrowed in consternation.

"We shouldn't, da'len." He said softly. She refused to voice her automatic question of 'why?' and simply responded with her eyes, layering them with all the love and hope and determination she felt, hoping that she would convince him that she didn't care, whatever his reasons were.

She saw the faint shift in his expression that signaled she won, but before she could react, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, silencing all thoughts but those that focused on the feel of his lips against hers.

Her heart melted and she quivered in delight as her joy manifested through her, leaning into the kiss, relishing the softness of his mouth. He tried to pull back, but she pulled at their joined hands and opened her mouth in invitation. She felt him groan as his tongue delved into her mouth, his grip on her hand tightening and his other hand reached around her to pull her close as he deepened the kiss.

When they broke apart, her face was flushed and her heart pounded, her entire body quivering. She felt him bring her hand up to his mouth, where he kissed the knuckles sweetly before looking into her eyes, smiling softly.

"Why do I find myself so utterly incapable of resisting you?" he asked rhetorically, a gentle finger brushing a stray red curl from her face. She grinned at him in response, triumphant, and moved in for another kiss, unsatisfied with the duration of the first. He pulled back and she frowned, but he put a finger to his lips and pointed back to the campfire around which sat the Hero of Fereldan.

"Did you forget where we are, emm'asha?" The word of endearment made her heart tighten her chest and she knew he was manipulating her, but she allowed it. After all, she did wish to see more of her hero.

They spent the rest of the night watching the people across the decade-old campfire, nestled side by side, fingers interlaced.


	4. Beginnings Part I

Here is the first part of this fluffs chapter because I want to revisit a particular conversation before I post the second part – I am visiting my folks' for the holidays and am away from my gaming system and have too crappy of internet to watch a youtube video of it that I am sure exists. The horror of limited internet!

The next installment of my drabbles is rather…dark…so I figured you all should get at least one more fluff chapter before that particular horror is unveiled! Muahahaha!

Thank you all for your follows and reviews - I really appreciate it! You guys rock my socks off.

* * *

><p>Beginnings, Part I<p>

Solas made his camp at the periphery of Haven, finding a small wooden pallet in which to provide a buffer between his tent and the cold, snow-covered ground. He had to scour for a while to accumulate enough small rocks in which to create his firepit, but he didn't really mind, as it allowed him to become familiar with the adjacent woods in which he found some elfroot and iron ore. He currently sat cross legged on his pallet, a bowl of warm camp stew in his hands and a small loaf of bread on his knee that he acquired from the camp's cook.

While others would have been pleased to be assigned a small house in Haven, he recognized Cassandra's thinly veiled attempts to keep him close and be able to locate him easily if she wished. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as he politely declined, offering the excuse that families should be allowed to use the house instead of a travelling apostate who had an aptitude and preference for being in the outdoors. In truth, he wished to remain as far away from the members of the Inquisition as possible. His reason was still valid, however, finding it a waste of shelter for those who couldn't easily make shelter for themselves.

He had tried to suggest that he be allowed to make camp outside Haven's walls in hopes of mitigating the glares he was receiving and the offending, persistent noise of the makeshift war camp, but the austere Nevarran woman flatly refused. He beat back his irritation, recognizing that she acted in what she perceived as best interest for her people in protecting them from an apostate, and politely told her that he would make camp in the sparse woods behind the Alchemist's hut, still within Haven's walls but away from the majority of the camp's commotion. He saw her search for a problem with his proposal, but found none and dismissed him with a terse nod of her head before she turned on her heel and left.

He found it irksome to be bargaining with his freedom with the Seeker and resented the confinement, but contented himself with the knowledge that he would now be able to be in close proximity to the Dalish elf who bore the Mark, the woman they were now referring to as the Herald of Andraste. He scowled to himself over his bowl, aggravated in how eagerly the humans assigned Divine intervention to an event that he was sure would be explainable.

He cast out his magic again, searching for the small female elf, reassuring himself that she was alive and still in the Chantry surrounded by several armored warriors. He would do this several times an hour, worried for her safety, for without her, they would have no chance at closing the Breach.

He glowered up at the offending subject, the swirling green entity deceitfully beautiful. _How had this happened?_ The repeated question had almost become a mantra, but could discern no more now than when he witnessed the enormous explosion from the small village that shook from its power. He had hurried in his panic toward the Temple of Sacred Ashes, only to find in horror that the Conclave had been leveled.

He allowed his thoughts to narrow in attempt to find a solution, sipping on the warm broth as he brooded.

"Solas?" He looked up, startled, almost spilling his bowl of meager rations – he had not heard her approach. He recovered quickly, even managing to catch the bread that had fallen from his knee as he jumped.

"Hello." He greeted Arya politely, gazing at her, surprised that he had sought him out, for she had yet to do so since they returned to Haven that morning. She had changed out of her armored battle robes and wore a simple woolen shirt, breeches, and warm socks, the latter of which he noted with amusement had been removed of their heels and soles to emulate the stirruped pants of her people. She was small, even for an elf, but carried herself with a quiet dignity that was hard for her uncertainty at her situation to completely mask. Her dark red hair was let loose from her braids, and was secured from her face by a leather headband, falling over her shoulders and down her back in rich red waves. Her eyes were a dark emerald green, intelligent and attentive as they watched him. She was she was quite lovely, even with the prominence of the vallaslin on her forehead, which he grudgingly admitted was artfully applied. He successfully prevented himself from glowering at it.

"May I help you?" He kept his tone polite, still irritated at how easily she had snuck up on him, but genuinely wondering why she made it a point to seek him out, for his placement at the camp was designed precisely to discourage visitors. He had planned on keeping his distance from her and everyone else.

She seemed unsure, her eyes calculating as she surveyed him.

"You wouldn't…happen to have an extra hammock in that pack of yours, would you?" She gestured to his tent and the small pack that leaned against a large conifer. The question was hurried, and he was sure this could not have been what she had initially wished to ask him.

"A hammock?" He watched her, wondering what on earth she would want with such a contraption. "I am afraid not. I do not recall even seeing one in the recent past." She sighed regretfully.

"Oh, okay." She caught his eyes in their want of explanation, and he noticed with amusement that there was a slight pink flush to her cheeks. She elaborated. "I would just much rather carry around a hammock than that gaudy canvas thing they handed to me to put in my pack" she offered, shrugging.

When he didn't respond, her blush deepened, and she cleared her throat before continuing. "Well, thank you. I have yet to find one, so I might just have to make one here soon." She shuffled her feet and looked down. He sighed inwardly at her shyness, wishing she would get to the point so that he could continue his meal in solitude.

"And what, pray would the Chosen of Andraste, a Blessed Hero Sent to Save Us All need a hammock?" He said it with slight sarcasm. He saw her grimace then, her dark eyes snapping back up to his to gauge his meaning. Her frown at the title surprised him: he expected any mortal to love the attention.

"Ugh, don't do that." she scolded. "I've gotten enough of that today, already. I'm no Herald…nor am I a hero." He smirked, pleased with her answer, but saw her eyes flash with anger at his reaction, apparently mistaking his satisfaction for condescension. The fire flared and crackled angrily, distracting him from her angry gaze. Confused, he stared at it and then back to her smoldering eyes. He held up his hands in a silent apology, but the anger remained. He softened his expression in a more earnest apology, and motioned for her to join him at his fire. Those large green eyes narrowed as she surveyed him, unsure of his intentions.

"Please." He layered his voice with sincerity, genuinely wanting her to join him, guilty from his ungraciousness. In fact, he would be able to take the time to observe her now that the initial danger had passed. He hadn't had time nor the opportunity in their rush to the temple or on the way back to Haven – her presence was monopolized by the Seeker and various Inquisition soldiers. He saw her assent in the way her shoulders relaxed and how she looked around for a seat across the fire from him, which had calmed suddenly. He almost frowned at it.

Not finding a seat, Arya pointed to a small log underneath a tree and looked at question at him. He nodded and she used to magic to levitate the log next to the fire, which she sat upon after dusting off the snow and dirt. She sat, gazing at him, waiting expectantly.

He placed his bowl to his side and glanced out across the valley in which Haven nestled, indicating the Breach with waved hand. She twisted on the small log and surveyed it, but quickly turned back to him with a scowl on her face. He suppressed a smile at her reaction, and spoke quietly, academic.

"I've watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten." He said these words as he watched the Breach, but captured her eyes and spoke the next words directly to her.

"Every great war has its heroes, I just wonder what kind you will be." She made no comment, but gazed at him, measuring his words through slightly narrowed eyes. Then she cocked her head slightly before she responded.

"What do you mean….ruins and battlefields?" Her question surprised him, not just that she thought to ask, but also that she seemed truly interested, her eyes twinkling as she looked at him. He didn't miss that she completely ignored his statement that she was the hero of the war, but he discarded his suspicion that she was only attempting to change the subject in how interested she seemed.

"Any building strong enough to withstand the ridges of time has a history." He happily elaborated. "Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits, they press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between their worlds." He broke his small loaf of bread and offered her half, but she declined politely, and he weighed his next words, careful to not reveal too much, but delighting in speaking to someone about his experiences.

"When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen." He bit into a piece of bread and chewed thoughtfully as he thought about his next statement. She interrupted his thoughts.

"You fall asleep in the middle of ancient ruins? Isn't that dangerous?" She inquired, brows knitted together. He finished chewing the tough bread and swallowed.

"I _do_ set wards." He assured her. "And if you leave food out for the giant spiders, they are usually content to live and let live." He noticed her shudder of horror at the mention of giant spiders, but politely ignored it.

"I've never heard of anyone going so far into the Fade…that's extraordinary." Her voice was slightly awed as she replied.

"Thank you." He replied, pleased at the compliment. "It's not a common field of study, for obvious reasons. Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning. The thrills of finding remnants of a thousand-year-old dream? I would not trade it for anything." She grinned.

"Yes, throwing fire is fun and all," she raised an outstretched finger casually and the fire rose impressively, its disproportionate height paralleling her rising hand. "but isn't the most practical of the schools of magic."

He smiled as she dropped her hand and the fire resumed its pensive flickering. That was why it rose angrily before when he smirked at her – it must have been complementing her irritation. Her tie to the element must be extremely strong for her emotions to manifest through it. It would harmonize well with his control of ice and spirit magic.

His reaction must've pleased her, because she was also grinning when his eyes found hers again as she fed the fire with some of the wood he had piled next to it. "Studying the Fade sounds fascinating, truly," She said. "I would like to hear more of it in the days to come." He nodded in response, biting into another piece of bread and chewing thoughtfully as he watched her artful placement of the sticks into the strangely happy flames.

"I will stay then, at least until the Breach is closed." He eventually offered, turning his gaze back to the Breach as she sat back on her log.

"Was that…in doubt?" she asked, surprised. He smirked and waved his hands at Haven, not taking his eyes away from the swirling green anomaly.

"I'm an apostate mage surrounded by Chantry forces and unlike you, I do not have a Divine mark protecting me. Cassandra has been…accommodating, but you understand my caution." he said carefully

She shook her head in disbelief and slight disgust "You came here to help, Solas. I wouldn't let them use that against you. That'd be horrid." He looked at her, trying to determine her sincerity.

"How would you stop them?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"However I had to. I am the "Chosen of Andraste," after all." Her sarcastic emphasis of the title made him chuckle.

"Well…thank you. For now, let us hope the mages or the Templars have the power to seal the Breach" She nodded her agreement and recognized the courteous dismissal.

She stood, raising her arms above her head as she stretched. "Thank you for talking with me, Solas. I am glad that you have decided to stay on with us." She smiled. "I was actually hoping you would accompany me to the Hinterlands to meet with a Chantry Mother who has agreed to give us information." He pretended to consider before he nodded, her apparent purpose at meeting him finally elucidated. "When do we leave?" he inquired, and bit into another piece of bread.

"Cassandra says we can leave at first light tomorrow. Meet at the gates?" She inquired, and he nodded.

"I will see you then." She had only walked a few steps before she turned and added an afterthought.

"And you know, you don't need to check up on me when we are at camp. It's been rather distracting having my mind brushed against every few minutes." She grinned cheekily at his flabbergasted expression, and walked off before he had a chance to respond.

He almost gaped at her as she walked away, simultaneously annoyed and fascinated by her departure. She was not what he expected at all. She was certainly Dalish in her cheekiness and bizarre sense of humor, but she was also civil, polite, and seemed genuine in her interest in what he had to say. As he thought about her last comment, he smirked as he realized that their entire conversation might have been brought by her want to throw him off guard by that one statement. Indeed, most mages weren't able to sense when another intruded upon their minds.

Not only was he amazed she could detect his subtle brushes of his magic on her aura, but she had managed to catch him off guard twice in their conversation. He was not sure whether to be impressed with her or annoyed at himself for not being more careful.

He would have to explore her magical talents as they travelled, for which he was quite glad that she asked him to accompany her on her mission - he doubted whether or not he'd be informed of their departure, and that would spare his need to explain why he left in hasty pursuit of them. In truth, he would not let her leave his circle of awareness while the Breach remained opened.

Indeed, maybe this would provide an opportunity to bring up the recovery of his orb.

* * *

><p>The following morning, Cassandra glared daggers as she approached the gates where both he and Varric waited for Arya to arrive. He took great joy in sending the Seeker a smug expression when Arya greeted them happily and they set out - Cassandra in the lead, then Arya, then Varric, with Solas bringing up the rear.<p>

As the moved southeast, the treeline gradually thickened as the snow patches on the ground became less and less frequent. Solas was elated to leave the raucous war camp and be back amongst the trees, immersed in nature. He enjoyed the woods – the stillness, the smell of the crisp air, the crunch of the snow and pine needles under his bare feet. He felt himself becoming more invigorated as they walked, the muscles in his shoulders releasing their tension.

They followed Cassandra as she led them down the mountain, eventually emerging in a thick coniferous forest nestled in a valley between two smaller mountains. Cassandra suggested that they stop for their lunch, as the dappled ground suggested that the sun was directly overhead, its rays parallel to the mighty trees. They each unpacked some dried deer strips and a small wedge of cheese that the quartermaster had packed them, munching on the food in silence as they sat on the springy, needle-covered ground.

They had only been a few minutes back on the trail when Solas was distracted by the faintest rustle overhead. He raised his staff, ready to strike at the threat from above. He was caught off guard – used to scanning the horizon for danger, but what horror could come from trees? For a horror it must be to move so silently through the dry, snow crusted branches. These surprises were beginning the infuriate him, and he glared at the needled canopy .

His discerning eyes caught the rustle in the trees directly above him, scrutinizing, drawing upon his magic, ready to throw up a barrier. He heard the rhythmic thudding of armored footsteps and took his eyes from the tree to see a wild-eyed Cassandra trotting up to him and Varric, who had stopped when he noted Solas's wariness.

"Where is the Herald?" the warrior asked worriedly as she glanced up in the trees to see what Solas was looking at. "She disappeared into the forest to relieve herself as we were packing up, and that was almost ten minutes ago." Her voice became more frantic as she searched the horizon, unable to see far through the dense trees. Solas whirled on the spot as well, danger momentarily overridden by the panic he felt rising in his heart, for he was unable to locate her as he cast his magic out laterally in search of her. No, no, no…

"You let her out of your sight for ten minutes and she's now _gone_?" he asked incredulously, unable to keep the fury from his voice. The crystal that capped his staff blazed, reflecting his agitation and fear. The Seeker retorted, angry.

"She urged me to go on, saying she would catch up. She was quite insistent." Varric had his crossbow in his hands now.

Cassandra's worried voice continued on, "We need to find her if there's some sort of….OOF" she was cut off midsentence and Solas whipped around, magic blazing at his fingertips

A small elf had thumped into view between the three of them, apparently coming from nowhere. They all staggered in surprise, Solas in anger. It was Arya, grinning broadly at their bewilderment, held her hand over her mouth, snickering.

"Hairy Ogre tits, Dalish." Varric swore as he stumbled backwards in shock. She laughed cheekily then, both at his reaction and at his choice of words.

Cassandra disapproved immensely, her brows furrowed in anger as she stood. "_Where _did you disappear to? You had us all frightened!"

Solas, angry at being startled _yet again_ by this woman, scowled as the female elf's amused eyes darkened at Cassandra's tone. He let the magic fade from his fingertips, trying to collect his thoughts as he watched the two women stare angrily at each other. Cassandra continued, trying to keep her voice level.

"Herald, you can't disappear from out sight for so long. We were worried something happened to you – what would happen to the world if you died before you could close the Breach?" Arya must have known Cassandra was not meaning to be patronizing, but Solas saw the elf's eyes flash.

"I appreciate the sentiment, _Seeker_." She said so politely it was almost cool, but Solas saw the fire spit angrily behind her eyes, noting how she emphasized Cassandra's title. "but I can take care of myself. I was wandering the woods since I could toddle and even more so in the trees. I thought it would be fun to play a joke, but obviously you all lack such a sense of humor. I would have _thought_ that you would recognize me as a capable and sensible individual and it might please you to know that I was actually with you the whole time." She pointed upwards into the piney canopy.

Solas's irritation was fading as admiration worked in the cracks of his anger as he realized why he wasn't able to find her aura when he searched frantically for it – he hadn't sent it into the trees, thinking that she would only ever be on the ground.

Arya continued on, her voice maintaining its cool. "I recognize now that my jest may have been in bad taste. However…I want to make something clear." She stopped, took a deep breath, and continued.

"Cassandra, I believe in your cause and want to help, but you are _not _shackling me to stay in sight. I already explained to this one," she gestured at Solas, "that I do not need checked up on every few minutes like a child. I have proven that I will not run off or cause you harm. I _do_, in fact, understand my importance to you as the only means in which to close the Breach, but I will not be treated like your frail noble ladies: I am a Dalish elf, a hunter, First to the Keeper of my clan, and I _will_ be treated with respect." Her eyes glittered, challenging protest from any of them.

Cassandra just stared at the small elf, her eyes widened in her shock, while Varric looked both amused and impressed. Solas found himself smirking at the Seeker's reaction, for he guessed this was the first time Arya had the opportunity and the means in which to put her foot down to the intimidating woman. Solas found his anger had shifted to amusement and approval as this feisty woman finished her declaration, the air around her crackling with the fire of her conviction. Arya's eyes found his last, and he returned her gaze levelly, hoping he was hiding his intrigue and interest. In fact, he was rather impressed.

Arya's intense green hers turned from his when Cassandra had recovered enough to speak.

"I…I was not meaning to cause offense, and I apologize, Herald." Cassandra replied, cowed. Again, Solas saw those glorious green eyes flash dangerously.

"I am _not_ the Herald of Andraste. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, that's it."

Cassandra watched her for a moment and offered, "That yet…remains to be seen, Arya." The use of her name calmed the elf noticeably. The women stared at each other, the struggle of power evident in their glares. Eventually, Arya nodded noncomittingly. Then she grinned, anger apparently forgotten completely.

"Besides, I'm far more safe than you are on the ground. There are all manners of beasties down here." Then she grinned again before she turned on her heel and walked off down the path.

Cassandra and Varric shared a glance with each other, to which the dwarf smirked and subsequently shrugged, extending his hand after the fiery elf for Cassandra to take her place at the head of the pack.

Solas could only stare as she walked off down the path, at loss for words. This tiny, red headed woman was now berating the faux-leader of the Inquisition after having caught him completely off guard yet _again_ by her emergence from the trees. The third time in two days. She moved so silently that only his years of remaining on guard constantly alerted him to the danger of the branches rustling overhead. And she seemed unimpressed by the whole exchange, ending the conversation with that cheeky grin that begged a laugh.

Fascinating.

He was also intrigued by her words in how she acknowledged that she needed protecting because of her responsibility of possessing the Mark, but headed off being coddled immediately, setting her boundaries well. As he watched her, she scrambled up a large tree adjacent to the path, her bare feet enabling her to grip the tree's bark with ease.

He would not see her again until they stopped for supper. He heard her – certainly – if he paid close enough attention. A rustle here, an alarmed chirp of a bird there. Cassandra was still obviously discomforted by her being out of sight, but didn't want to risk another confrontation. It was needless, though. He wouldn't let this elf out of circle of awareness, yet her respected her privacy and didn't attempt to locate her by magic again - the terror at the loss of the mark after he knew its purpose would be devastating. He could not bear to lose the one thing that could correct his, horrible, horrible mistake. And provide the possibility for retrieving his focus.

He allowed his feet to carry him down the path after the mortals, true hope kindling in his heart.

* * *

><p>So I understand the need to have limitations in the form of talent trees and such in games, but I imagine magic lore is much more complex and specialized - a mage's aptitude for a type of magic would reflect their personality.<p>

Take the kind, older, compassionate Wynne and her gift for healing magic.

Arya, a fiesty, hot tempered Dalish, has quite a lot of rage at the fate of her people that would easily be channeled through a volatile and caustic element – fire.

Solas, while also having a lot of rage, is much, much older, and his rage has had centuries to evolve into a cold and unyielding fury – ice. His aptitude for spirit magic is self-evident, our Fade magician.

Anywho, I will work on my original chapter until I go home and can revisit that gameplay conversation, so I can hopefully have both uploaded here soon!


	5. Admission

While I have been doing these chapters non-sequentially as I think of plot-bunnies, I felt like this one needed to be before my side quest that will come here soon.

Did anyone else wonder how the Inquisitor's companions magically survived the avalanche that buried Haven? Cause I certainly did. Here's some closure for those of you who also obsess over such details.

Thank you all for your reviews and follows! Lilybud, you are amazing. Thank you so much for your well-thought out comments. :)

* * *

><p>Admission<p>

Their trip back from Adamant Fortress was easily the worst since their slow trudge back from Haven before they had recovered Arya. Solas had only been there for the latter half of the retreat, arriving after the weary and wounded villagers had made camp, having gone with Arya to fire the last of the trebuchets into the mountainside.

They were unable to run to her aid when Corypheus confronted her, their only means of reaching her blocked by the dragon's giant mace of a tail. They were awestruck as she stood her ground, the flames around her rising higher with her fear while she screamed her defiance at her enemy. Her courage and unwillingness to back down kept him spellbound, costing them the precious time that they could've used to avoid they avalanche they all knew was coming.

He had a moment's indecision in whether or not to save himself or go to her, finally cursing that he would had to leave her, as she was now replaceable and he was not: her personal mission was done with the Breach now sealed. His heart was heavy with the decision, pained even, as he knew he would most likely be leaving her to die. But the huge snowslide was gaining momentum and he shouted at his companions to run, mumbling into his hands and sending a teal colored magelight in the direction he saw her fall before he ran for his life, calling on the spirits to grant them all haste as they ran.

Iron Bull obeyed the shouted command without question, his large legs carrying him swiftly after the mage. He didn't even need to pause as he swooped down and grabbed the ginger dwarf, tucking him under his huge arm. The dwarf only briefly squawked out a protested, "You can't carry a dwarf!" while they ran for their lives, racing against time as the descending wall of snowy death thundered down the mountain towards them.

He ran toward a pair of large pines, hoping that Iron Bull was following him, working a spell, muttering to himself almost frantically as he began to weave the protective barriers into it.

"Duck down as low as you can." He ordered as they reached him, and released his magic when the avalanche was merely 100 yards away. Ice erupted around them, knitting together in a solid shell that encased the bottom of a tree and barely crested their heads. Varric sucked in his breath, and Solas was reminded of the dwarf's paradoxical fear of caves, and their icy prison was quite a tiny cave.

They waited with baited breaths as the wall of snow crashed into their shield, which shrieked as the ice cracked, lattices shearing against one other, but it held. The ice roared around them, Solas kept magic twinkling at his fingertips, ready to strike and surround them with a barrier should the icy shell fall. Varric was wide eyed and absently clutched Iron Bull in his terror.

Eventually, the roar diminished into a whooshing that slowly abated into nothingness as the world around them grew still.

Solas exhaled only then, allowing himself to fall backward against the icy wall, exhausted, but pleased that they survived. He would've been able to save himself, certainly, but he would've had to give himself away, a feat that would have long reaching consequences if Iron Bull and Varric had managed to survive. He was glad it had not come to such a thing.

After they had calmed down, Solas couldn't let them rest to completely collect themselves - they had a limited amount of fresh air remaining in their shelter. He gave some brief instructions to the Qunari and dwarf before he signaled the Iron Bull with a nod and broke their icy shell, throwing up a barrier to prevent the snow from burying and suffocating them. The large Qunari worked quickly, packing the snow to form a vertical tunnel, using the large pine tree as a guide.

Luckily, their placement at the mountainside allowed most of the snow to funnel past them, and there was only ten feet of it piled on top of their shield, which Iron Bull easily dug them out of. Varric hurriedly scrambled up the tree, and Iron Bull stood ready to grab Solas as he dropped his barrier, pulling him up through the tunnel before the snow could collapse over his head.

When they had collected themselves enough to survey their surroundings, they found the entire village to be completely buried in snow, all traces of its existence obliterated. Even the Chantry was not visible.

They all stared, eyes searching the landscape, unwilling to voice their main concern.

"You think that the Boss made it?" Iron Bull eventually broke the silence.

"We can only hope." was Solas's sad reply. He was unable to locate her aura, the snow causing too much interference despite his attunement with the element: too much air mixed with the ice. He was even unable to locate his own magelight, which was unusual, but was comforted by its steady withdrawal from his magical reserves, suggesting it might be sustaining her.

He refused to think the worst, for which his practical self scolded him. In fact, it took considerable effort to convince himself that it would be futile to search for her – they had no supplies, no food, and it would take days of digging through the snow to unearth only a fraction of Haven. But his heart's wishes were echoed by the dwarf.

"She could still be alive. She's cheated death what….three times now?" Varric's voice was confident, and his optimism tore a small smile from Solas's lips.

"At least." Iron Bull conceded.

"That she has." Solas also agreed, allowing the faint hope. "I sincerely doubt that she is done surprising us. She enjoys it far too much." He smirked at the memories of her astounding ability to catch him off guard.

"Well, might as well head back…" Iron Bull said sadly before he turned and trudged off through the snow, easily able to maneuver through the tall banks.

Solas surveyed the snowy horizon one last time, casting his magic out in all directions as far as he could in his exhaustion before he accepted defeat. If they were unable to find her soon, he would have to cease the tethering magic lest it consume him, and she would slowly succumb to the cold.

Cullen and Cassandra greeted them after a lengthy hike, their eyes crestfallen when they saw that their Herald was not with them. Cassandra glared at Solas, who glared back, refusing to let the Seeker sense his upset at Arya's absence before he started stumbling toward the camp.

"We are going out in search of her. Solas, can you provide us light?" He noticed that she did not ask if he would like to accompany her. He would've had to refuse, unfortunately, his magic spent in beating back the raw might of the avalanche and in fueling his magelight, which still drew from him. He wished to conserve as much of his energy in possible in case they were unsuccessful in locating her quickly.

Solas looked at her, considering. "I would, Seeker, but my magelight is guiding another. I suggest that you look for it if you wish to find your Herald." He said no more and approached the camp, which even from this distance, reeked of despair.

Only those tuned to such despair would sense it now, its pungent tendrils all but swallowed in the excited buzzing of the Inquisition's forces as they made camp for the night. Oh, what a difference several months of training and their first solid victory made, the Inquisition downright elated, its numerous bonfires so large and proud that they almost begged attack from their enemies.

The true horrors of Adamant Fortress were easily forgotten by the soldiers. He looked back to the two agonized friends, elf and dwarf, as they sat huddled in front of their gloomy, flickering fire that reflected the mood of the Inquisitor quite well.

Varric had said absolutely nothing since their emergence from the Fade without Hawke, walking with his head downcast as he trudged beside Arya, who had refused to leave his side. Solas was disquieted by the dwarf's uncharacteristic reticence, and respectfully gave Arya privacy to be with her friend, though he desperately wished to comfort her in her obvious hurt. She refused to enter the camp proper, insisting that they pitch their tents as far away from the commotion as possible, eventually nesting at the periphery of the mages' camp, hoping this would discourage visitors. Only Solas and Dorian had elected to stay with Arya and Varric, for the others were too discomforted by sleeping near so many mages, which Solas knew was by her design.

He knew that human mage and the storyteller were close, and was pleased Arya took the time from her duties to comfort Varric. He had to prevent himself from staring at them, almost distressed by their closeness to each another and their joined hands as they talked. Dorian sat near the pair, reading a book and providing the comfort of his presence while Solas stood sentinel, refusing to let others enter their camp, trying his best to give his friends the seclusion that they needed to mourn. He only had to threaten a few of the more noisy and drunk soldiers with magical dismemberment before the word spread and they were left alone.

Eventually, Josephine and Cullen had found them, and Solas knew better than to bar their approach, but glared a warning at them as he allowed them to pass. As they approached the Inquisitor, he heard whispered condolences and then they requested her presence at war table tent to answer questions in matters of state. She stared incredulously at them, and the fire roared briefly in her annoyance for which Josephine looked startled. Solas was amused to watch Arya compose herself before she flatly told them to take care of it themselves. Josephine cast a knowing look from the elf to the dwarf before inclining her head respectfully, roughly grabbing Cullen by his furred collar as she dragged him away. The Commander gaped, disapproving.

Solas took the opportunity to smirk at the ex-Templar, who glared back. He knew the Commander was sweet on the Inquisitor, and enjoyed being able to assert her preference of him over the human. He resumed his post as the two leaders walked away, whispering hurriedly under their breaths.

Eventually, Arya and Varric stood and hugged before Varric headed for his tent. Dorian had left a while ago in search of a nightcap, leaving Arya to him. She turned and shuffled toward him, her hand rubbing the back of her neck. He stood, waiting for her to approach.

She said nothing when she reached him, her eyes downcast, and he took her in his arms, holding her close. She clung to him, and he could tell she was trying hard to not cry.

"Thank you." She said quietly into the furs around his neck. He squeezed her gently in response. When she pulled away, he kissed her forehead, his lips lingering before she gave him a grateful smile. She walked back to their fire, tending to it briefly before she entered her tent.

* * *

><p>When he entered her dream, he was immediately thrown off of his feet by a huge explosion that rocked the entire Fade. He managed to steady himself after the second boom and looked around, wondering what on earth would cause the very ground to heave in upset and noticed a large column of smoke in the distance.<p>

As he walked toward it, the storm continued, the ground quaking with each loud BOOM. He frowned, wondering if seeking her out was wise – he rarely intruded upon her dreams, but his inability to talk to her in the waking world distressed him so much that he decided to risk it.

As they spent most of the journeys in the Fade in his own dreams, he allowed himself to be impressed with the details of the forest in which he now walked, the decidua primeval and virgin. He was forcibly reminded and slightly jealous of her control of the Fade, again wondering if the Mark had anything to do with such an aptitude.

As he walked under the primal, viney canopy, he started to make out shouted words that were punctuated by the explosions. By this point, he knew to expect the sporadic rumbles, and would brace himself. He assumed he was close by how near the now numerous columns of smoke rose about the vivid canopy.

"WHHYYYY!?" came a mournful howl followed by a detonation that shook under his feet. He came upon the edge of a clearing in which she stood at the center, and he crouched in the bushes at its border, only slightly guilty at the intrusion as he watched her.

"Why me?! What do you want from me?!" she shrieked at the sky, her hands entangled in her hair as she raged, for the long red curls had become completely undone from their usual elaborate braid.

He watched in amazement as lightning flew from her hand to a large boulder and the giant rock exploded into gravel as the ground rumbled, the small pieces flying out in all directions while the majority disintegrated into powder and fell into a heap.

She conjured several more large boulders, sending lightning into each in turn, shrieking in her fury as they exploded. She lifted clawed hands and a rock the size of hart rose into the air. She violently pulled her hands apart, and the boulder ripped open from the sheer force of her will.

She was shaking by this point, and fell to her knees, head bowed backward in exhaustion, apparently spent as her arms hung limply at her side.

His want to go to her won out over fear of her anger at his intrusion and he stood, moving to step over the sheltering bushes. He had a moment's warning as the air crackled to duck before lightning flew over his head, exploding the tree behind him into splinters that flew outward as flaming projectiles. Unable to justify his annoyance since he was trespassing, he started to disentangle himself from the prickly plants in which he dived with a huff.

"I don't know who you are, but you should leave." Her voice dripped venom and she stood facing the direction in which he lunged to narrowly avoid her projectile, hands crackling with electricity as she readied herself to strike.

"Calm yourself, da'len" he said, managing to stand and dusted off his shirt, picking out a prickle that dug into his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt.

She started, her eyes widening. "What are you doing here?"

Her question was stupid and they both knew it: this was the Fade, his realm. He had obviously entered her dream to talk with her, as she was too preoccupied with Varric that evening to pay him any attention. She knew that, but they were both painfully aware of how vulnerable he was seeing her, her face red and mottled as she frantically wiped away the evidence of her despair and anger.

"Lightning?" He asked, trying to layer his voice with humor as he walked toward where she stood at the epicenter of her destructive fit. He was rewarded with her slight smirk.

"…fire wasn't doing enough damage." He laughed as she hung her head in good natured shame.

"I can see why obliterating things would be therapeutic." He added when he reached her. She nodded, her cheeks a shade of pink, refusing to look at him. Eventually, she sat on the ground, hugging her knees to her chest, burying her face in her legs.

He dropped to sit beside her, his feet out in front of him, and put his arm behind her.

"What happened, da'len?" He asked in a low voice.

She was silent for a while, and he let her work through her thoughts, knowing she would elaborate when she was ready.

"I…I let her die." She finally said, voice thick as she lifted her head, eyes distant. "She refused to come back with us…and I let her sacrifice herself. I should've made her come with us, but I didn't. I left her _knowing _that she would die."

"From what Alistair says, you would have all perished were that the case." Solas consoled as he rubbed a small circle on her shoulder.

"I just…" she paused, biting her lower lip. "Ilyara asked me to keep Alistair safe for her. In her letter. I just…I just couldn't let Alistair be the one to die, even though he insisted he should stay to make up for the mistakes the Grey Wardens made. I had to practically _drag_ him back with me." She wiped her face hurriedly on her sleeve.

"Who _I_ am to decide who lives and who dies, Solas?" she spat angrily. "You saw my memories…this came to me by _accident_," she threw up her left hand irritably.

"And…?"

"And what?!" she huffed in frustration.

"How does the situation in which you came to possess the Mark invalidate your obvious 'worthiness' to bear its responsibilities?" he asked patiently. She buried her face in her knees again.

"I didn't ask for any of this. I don't want this type of responsibility. It's not fair. I just wanted to do Keeper Marelli proud and learn something new to bring back to my clan. And I feel like such a spoiled child pouting and throwing a fit." Her voice was thick, heavy with self-loathing.

"It's quite reasonable to be distressed by your circumstances, Arya, and I am both surprised and impressed that this is the first time I have heard you voice your frustrations." It was true…she had born all of the hardships in silence, with quiet dignity that consistently impressed him. Even with her temper, she had never once voiced her upset at being thrust into the role of Inquisitor.

"Unfortunately, da'len, we cannot choose our circumstances…we can only choose what we do with them." He was silent for a while, hoping that she would voice her concerns to him, but she stayed in the shelter of her knees, lost in her thoughts.

"Arya, did you force Hawke to stay behind?" Solas eventually inquired.

"No…I just…didn't stop her when she told us that Alistair was needed to rebuild the Grey Wardens. That much is true, but I don't know if I let her do so because of that reason or…"

"You were afraid of disappointing the Hero." Solas responded quietly, understanding.

"…yes." She answered into her knees.

"So now you are wondering if your reasons were just in who you chose to save in addition to speculating if, had you done things differently, you could have saved them both." She nodded after a moment's pause.

"Arya…try as you might, the hard truth of life is that you cannot save everyone. And there are people who _are_ more expendable than others." He held up his hand as Arya lifted her head and opened her mouth to protest. "Please, let me say my piece." She closed her mouth and nodded, returning her eyes forward as she continued to hold her knees to her chest.

"When I say that people are more expendable than others, I do not mean that people themselves are expendable. You had a very similar conversation with Leliana when she had doubts, if I am not mistaken." She looked sharply at him, and he chuckled.

"You forget that I reside in the bottom of the tower where the Nightingale nests. I am aware of much, da'len." She narrowed her eyes at him, but made no comment. He continued.

"Valuing life is admirable and necessary, but your good heart interferes with the practical aspects of ruling, of which you now bear the responsibilities. And as much as it pains me to say this," he grimaced, "Alistair was the more valuable member of the team. Hawke's deeds were significant in the past, for she was the catalyst for the mage rebellion, but she has since kept to herself after helping the rest of the Circles rebel with Anders." She smirked slightly through her tears.

"You really don't like the Wardens, do you?" she asked. He blanched, choosing his words carefully.

"I do not…enjoy what they have become, and I do not wish to speak more on the matter at this time." She shrugged and didn't question him further, which surprised him greatly, though he was relieved.

"Alistair is needed as a figurehead to help rebuild the Grey Wardens – many of this time have apparently forgotten that we _need_ the Wardens to combat the Blights, of which two still remain." She nodded, remembering their previous conversation.

"So while I certainly do not agree with your decision to give them free reign in the Inquisition, I do agree with your alliance, and we need them at their best. And with the Hero on her own mission...he is the only one who has a chance at restoring them…and the world needs a reminder of the good that the Wardens can do in light of recent…events. Helping Ilyara was a positive consequence."

"And while you might only see that last reason, I _know_ you understand the importance of combating Blights if we succeed in our endeavors, of which I am sure we will do. You are just less cautious than I, which in this case, is probably a good thing." he admitted.

She nodded, still lost in thought, and her eyes welled.

"I…I made the choice even knowing how it would destroy Varric." This admission caused her shoulders to shake and she started to weep openly. He felt his entire core soften at those words, realizing this was what was causing her the greatest distress. Before he realized what he was doing, he had gathered her into his arms and held her close to him in his lap, cradling her head against his shoulder. She clutched to him, burying her face in his shirt as she cried. He rocked back and forth comfortingly, lips resting against her forehead.

"That's the trouble with leading, da'len – your responsibilities to your subjects often mean that the ones you love pay the price." He told her dejectedly. _As I am well aware…_

Guilt consumed him as he held his weeping love in his arms, unable to deny his consummate culpability as the ultimate source of her situation, having given his orb to Corypheus for him to misuse. All he could do was help her maintain her sanity and strength while they recovered it.

She sniffed, "I just…I was never trained to be put in this position…to make decisions like that. I have no idea what I am doing, ever. It's like I am fumbling around in the dark, hoping I don't mess things up worse than they are. I can only do what my heart tells me, and it's so selfish sometimes. I was just so afraid my selfishness caused me to make a wrong decision, causing one of the people I love the most to suffer for the benefit others." Her words struck him to the quick as she echoed his introspection of his own situation. He squeezed her tighter to him.

"For what it is worth, da'len, you did the right thing, regardless if you think it was selfish or not. And I have seen enough of you over this past year, talked with you, seen every one of your decisions to realize that selfishness is not a trait you possess much of, if at all." And it was true: she constantly shamed him with her actions, gave him hope for his people.

They sat there for a while, Solas reveling in her closeness to him, cradling her in his lap. She had stopped her weeping, and sat with her face in his shirt.

He contemplated the woman in his arms, this gorgeous wisp of an elf, beautiful and extraordinary of both body and spirit who put even those of the distant past to shame. He beat back the gnawing thoughts at the back of his mind that he needed to leave her, needed to disentangle himself from her now so that it would be easier for her to move on when he inevitably had to leave to fulfill his own responsibilities. And she was a mortal…it would be unfair to her to continue letting her worm into his heart.

As if she hadn't captured it completely already.

But he couldn't. Her mere presence was invigorating, and he basked in the smell of her, all the more keen in the Fade: fire, female, a faint smell of vanilla from the lotion she used in her curls.

How had such a being come to exist? His thoughts drifted to the Anchor that now dominated her life, almost wanting it to be the sole source of her magnificence, an explanation for her existence, but was reminded of Cole's words to her, spoken in the late hours of the evening after a weary day:

_You are too bright…like counting birds against the sun. The Mark makes you more…and yet it wasn't what made you that way._

What had made her that way…was it her Dalish heritage…her magic? _What?_

"What were you like, before the Anchor?" he asked, curiosity overwhelming him. She disentangled her left hand from his clothes and brought it palm up before her face, turning it over as she contemplated. She shrugged.

He elaborated, slightly embarrassed. "Has it affected you? Changed your mind, your morals, your…spirit?"

She thought about it seriously.

"I don't…believe so. I feel no different. I don't think I would have made any decisions differently than I did before it came to me, if that's what you mean." She said, unsure.

"Ah" he looked down, voice low. She chuckled softly, burying her face into his shirt, breathing his scent. He smiled and nuzzled his face against her hair.

"You sound disappointed." Her amused voice was slightly muffled as she said the words into his shirt.

"It's just…you show a wisdom I have not seen since," he paused, emotion causing the words to almost spill out before his brain halted them. _Careful…_

He coughed, recovering "…since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade." The words poured out in a rush. "You are…not what I expected." He added quietly, hugging her tightly to him, unable to find more adequate words to express his rapture of her, his inability to tell her she was the first person since his waking whose caliber of spirit rivaled that of the ancient immortal elves, his people. Her ancestors. She laughed.

"Just what have I done that's so surprising?" She asked, amused. He shifted, uncomfortable in his inability to cogently form his thoughts.

"You have shown…subtley in your actions, a wisdom that goes against everything I expected. If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit likes yours, have I misjudged them?" His last sentence was more of a musing than a genuine question. He felt her shrug in his arms.

"Honestly…not really." She admitted, which surprised him: he knew she was enormously proud of her Dalish heritage. "I was often disappointed in how my clanmates cared more for showing off a particularly impressive kill or complaining about how terrible humans were. I was one of the few who actually seemed to care about the old ways."

"Perhaps that is it. I suppose it must be. Most people act with so little understanding of the world….but not you." He was unconvinced, and it must've registered in his voice, for she laughed.

She nuzzled his shirt and looked up at him for the first time since he gathered her in his arms, her eyes twinkling. "But I already told you that I _don't _know what I am doing…I just follow what my heart tells me is right and make up the rest as I go."

"Then that makes your heart all the more extraordinary and unique in all of this world." _The most extraordinary, most wonderful.._

He brushed a stray curl from her face, basking in both her beauty and in her adoring gaze.

"So what does this mean, Solas?" her eyes were soft, a beautiful shade of emerald, and he felt heat rise in his face, the air around them buzzed with anticipation, and he noticed the slight tilt of her chin as she lifted her mouth towards him.

Shame flooded him as he realized that his awe of her and want to comfort her had wholly distracted him from his promise to himself that he would prevent her from getting this close to him. He had let the moment go too far, and brutally reminded himself that she was a mortal whose duty would bifurcate from his and that he had to protect her from the path he must walk.

To do otherwise would be unforgivably selfish of him.

He turned from those glorious green eyes, motioning to disentangle himself from her.

"Solas…" he halted at his self-given name, but did not turn back to gaze at her, knowing that if saw hurt in those magnificent eyes, he would be unable to pull away from her.

"Stay with me?" Her voice pleaded, quiet. He stiffened. Here was the chance, the chance to pull away, reject her before it was too late.

"I shouldn't, da'len…" the words were almost cold as he desperately fought to rebuild the figurative wall between them, furious with himself that he had let it crumble.

"Why?" was the instant response, and he felt her eyes harden in the way the Fade simmered around him.

"It would be kinder in the long run if I did not." He dismissed her instantly, his heart breaking. _You could never possibly understand…please let it lie, vhenan._ Even as he told her "no", he found his wall failing, cracking at the hurt in her voice. And he found himself unable to detach himself from the beautiful, fierce creature who had captivated him so. His weakness in his inability to keep away from her would be her undoing, and he was too selfish to pull away even now, no matter how much his brain nagged at him. He could only hope his cold words would push her away.

"I don't believe that." She almost snapped. "Just as you don't really believe that." His gut twisted and he opened his mouth to protest angrily, but a gentle finger on his lips shushed him.

"Please….it's my turn to have my say." He shut his mouth in assent, wanting desperately for her to not continue for fear that her words would shake his resolve. But even now, he was unable to remove himself from her as his brain screamed at him to leave, not to let her have her say.

"I know you want to protect yourself." She said "I know you are scared this might not last…it's a war. People…" she gulped "people die. Important people." His heart broke for her. She thought he was pushing her away because he feared for his own well being if she died, elucidating that she understood that their love might not last, only she was afraid of her own death. She was afraid even more that she might not survive to complete her task.

_Ma'vhenan, you are so brave and good. You do not deserve the likes of me and what I must do. But oh, how I want you, regardless. Please do not say any more, you threaten to undo me._

"But please, Solas…please stop pushing me away. You are my guide, my friend, my ally, my teacher." She balled his fists in her shirt, clinging to him, pleading. "If this is the only time we have to spend before the end, then I want to spend it with you…together." She said, her words determined.

There…she did it. Save for this foremost echo of his own thoughts as he argued with himself in the late nights, he would have been able to deny her. But not here, in the Fade, where her agony, loneliness, and want of him screamed from every angle in piercing waves.

"It would be kinder in the long run…" he said, his heart breaking with that truth. A small hand found his cheek and the soft fingers stroked his chin, beckoning, and he knew that if he turned away from her now, she would be lost to him forever.

And losing her would….

He realized that losing her would utterly destroy him. His heart betrayed his mind, convinced him that she would accept the consequences his love and its inevitable fallout, but knew that he still shouldn't allow it to come to pass.

But she was magical, full of life, and real. And she wanted him. Needed him.

And he found he no longer wanted to stop himself from needing her.

Damn him. Damn him for being selfish. He couldn't keep from her anymore.

"But losing you would…" He brought his mouth to hers before he could change his mind, enjoying the feel of her soft lips as they moved against his, setting his body aflame with the want of her, filing him with her fire. They stayed together for many moments, trying to pour their feelings into the kiss, and he broke apart from her reluctantly, his brain's need to use words betraying his body's want to maximize his interface with her.

"Ar lath ma, vhenan." He murmured, holding her eyes as he felt her constrict against him, those gorgeous green eyes filling, radiation pure joy. He smiled, and brought a hand to her face, where he wiped away the tear with a thumb, his heart expanding in his chest for finally being able to admit his overpowering love for her. She closed her eyes and buried her head into his chest.

"Ar lath ma, ma'salath." She almost sobbed into him.

The Fade around them erupted with her joy - colors burst brilliantly and trees exploded into existence as he looked up, watching with wonder as the Fade exalted in her elation, all evidence of her raging evaporated to be replaced by the primal forest through which he walked in search of her. Her power over the place made him envious as he held her close to him.

His mouth met hers again, and she trembled as they kissed, clinging to him as her arms wrapped around his neck. His body urged him to deepen the kiss, and he did so, pressing his lips to her more insistently. She relaxed in his hands, her mouth opening and his tongue roamed her mouth, groaning in pleasure as the familiar sensations began working their way outward from his belly. His mouth left hers and he kissed her forehead.

"Are you sure that you want this, vhenan?" He gave her another chance to refuse him, hoping that she would say no since he was utterly incapable of doing so.

"Please. I've been waiting for you my whole life. I am yours." She spoke in elven shyly, and he grinned like a fool, capturing her mouth in his again before he adjusted her in his grip. Her words reminded him that she was untouched, recalling a conversation between herself and Dorian in the wee hours of the morning after they returned from meeting his father in Redcliffe. His felt his love for her grow with the knowledge that she had chosen no other but him.

"Remember that we are in the Fade, Arya. It will be….different." he warned.

"Since when is anything we ever do conventional?" she replied, and he smirked.

"You have a point." He conceded as she grinned.

Strong hands lowered her from his lap to the ground before he swung a leg over her so that his knees straddled her hips, hands by her head. He gazed down at her, her gorgeous waterfall of red curls framing her face, her eyes full of love as she watched him as his eyes roamed her face.

He ran his hands along the grassbed upon which she lay, amazed at the unnatural feathery softness of the small blades. She must have anticipated where the moment was leading, her wants reflecting the changes in the Fade. He cocked an eyebrow at her, and she blushed at being caught, but her eyes sparkled.

He fell upon her the nape of her neck, kissing it gently, corners of his mouth pulling back in a smile as she shivered under his touch, goosebumps erupting across the exposed flesh of her neck and collarbone. He trailed kisses down to the hollow at the base of her throat then continued along her collarbone until his way was barred by her shirt. He pulled back, and his lips found her mouth again, kissing her gratefully as he positioned himself between her legs, rubbing his hips into her gently.

She broke away from his mouth with a gasp, her arms wrapping themselves around his neck as she arched instinctively into him. He was thrilled with how responsive she was to his touch, her tiny sounds of pleasure calling to him as he gently rocked against her through their clothes. He buried his head in the waterfall of her hair, inhaling the smell of vanilla, lust, and the primeval magic of a female accepting her mate for the first time, needing to suppress a growl of pleasure at the scents. He kissed her cheek, his rocking becoming more insistent as he began to nibble on the lobe of her ear, but as his lips traveled down her neck to the buttons of her blouse, he felt her stiffen.

"Solas." She said suddenly, her voice slightly panicked. He backed off instantly, propping himself on his hands as he looked at her, concerned.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, his voice worried, his eyes searching her face.

"Oh no, no it's…" she sighed musically to indicate her pleasure before she bit her bottom lip, unsure. He had never seen her so vulnerable, her body shrinking away from him in her unease.

"Tell me, vhenan." He said, voice soft and encouraging.

"I've…I've never…" she was fighting to hold back embarrassed tears and he relaxed as he understood. He knew that she was untouched, but she didn't realize that he had overheard her admission to the Tevinter.

"I know, vhenan." He looked at her, trying to adequately fill his eyes with the love and understanding he felt for her. She looked at him questioningly.

"I overheard your conversation with Dorian, emm'asha. You should choose the locations such discussions with more care." She flushed crimson and averted her eyes. He responded by lowering his mouth to her neck, kissing the soft flesh lovingly. He spoke in Elven, needing the subtleties and clear truth that Common could not adequately provide, knowing she would understand most of it.

"This does not change how I feel about you, my heart, only how I want to pleasure you." He murmured the flowing words into her neck, nuzzling the skin below her ear with the tip of his nose before nibbling her earlobe tenderly, eliciting a quiet moan as she turned her head away from him to allow better access.

"You might belong to the Inquisition in the waking world," He pressed his hips into her again, pleased with the gasp the action elicited as he resumed his gentle rocking.

"But here, in this realm, tonight and always…you belong to _me_." Arousal made his voice husky, his fingers tracing along the skin of her arm. He rocked his hips more insistently, delighting in the whimpers he was eliciting from her. She began to rock against him in time with his hips, her motions eliciting a groan as he felt his member flex against her. She must've felt it, as well, for she grinned into their kiss, her fingers tracing his scalp.

"In fact, my girl, I am pleased no fumbling young suitor has had a chance to touch you, for you are too great a woman for them to handle." His mouth on her neck, he sent out his magic as cool, ephemeral fingers that ghosted along her skin under her clothes, the chill eliciting goosebumps as the tendrils of magic sought the smooth skin of her breasts, circling her perked nipples once before they traveled down her belly to trace loving circles along her inner thighs as they meandered down the smooth flesh of her legs. She moaned against his cheek, her sounds of pleasure music to his ears, her arms reaching out to grasp his shoulders, one working its way around his neck.

"And far, far too great a treasure for them to relish." His lips found hers again, and she kissed him hungrily, but needed to break away with a gasp as his magic found his way into her and stroked her gently.

"And relish you, I shall, my love." He purred, and she shuddered delightfully, her hands tightening around his neck, her body arching into his before the hands loosened and worked their way at the laces of his collar, undoing them slowly. He was torn between his need for total dominance and the joy of letting her remove his clothing, the latter winning out. He watched her concentrate, her brows slightly furrowed as undid the last of the laces, her cheeks flushed pink with lust.

She let her hands fall when she finished, and her fingers traced the wolf's jaw that hung down almost to her chest as he suspended himself over her. She tugged gently on his shirt, wordlessly asking him to remove it, as the hem was too far from her reach. He sat back on his heels, holding her gaze as he grabbed the now loose collar, bringing the garment and his token over his head in one smooth motion before tossing it off to the side and leaning forward over his love.

Her hands went to his chest instantly, entangling themselves in the small patch of black chest hair and he rumbled a noise of pleasure as he closed his eyes. She arched into him and his eyes snapped open as he responded with a thrust of his own before kissing her urgently, hungrily. She whimpered and trembled from the force of the kiss.

His mouth left hers as he trailed eager kisses down her neck, her upturned and bare throat all the more arousing as her confidence with their touch grew. He undid the first tiny button of her blouse, his eyes flicking up to her face to see if she was okay with this. Her smoldering green eyes were watching him intently, her breathing beginning to grow labored with anticipation as he undid the second button.

There was a loud BANG.

* * *

><p>Arya bolted upright in her bedroll in the Inquisition's camp, eyes searching frantically as she heard laughter followed by more bangs. She growled, infuriated at being interrupted, her heart still pounding in his chest, her face flushed.<p>

She snarled in her frustration and fell back onto her bedroll with an angry huff, debating about what to do next. She had finally, _finally_ convinced Solas to be with her completely, and she was now terrified he'd reconsider due to the interruption, now having time to think it over. She was certain she'd be unable to fall back asleep easily, and she was so, so worked up and worried that she was seriously considering visiting him in his tent.

Her eyes had finally adjusted to the dim light and she stared at the top of her canvas tent, debating furiously with herself. She heard approaching footsteps and sat upright, not daring to hope.

The canvas flap was thrown open, and her heart leapt as Solas entered her tent in a whirlwind, his blue eyes intense as he descended upon her, kissing her so fiercely that she was forced back onto her bedroll. Her arms went around his neck instantly as she moaned into his mouth, thrilled with the sensation of his lips against hers and the knowledge that he wanted her enough to seek her in the waking world for the first time. She felt Solas's magic envelop the tent and recognized a silencing spell, enabling them some privacy as long as they weren't too loud. Solas took her neck in his mouth, kissing the flesh hungrily, undoing the buttons of her shirt as he kissed down her neck urgently, taking her collarbone in his teeth.

She could only gasp as he removed her shirt easily, flinging it to the side of the tent before he eagerly took a breast in his mouth, his hands teasing the soft flesh as she gripped his arms, nails scraping along the rough fabric of his shirt.

Emboldened by his explorations in the Fade, Arya found her shyness replaced with a burning desire, delighting in the enthusiasm of his mouth and hands as he explored her body. His lips and fingertips were teasing, caressing with a gentleness that belied his apparent urgency, causing an ache to start in her belly and work its way to her loins, where she felt herself swell unbearably with the want of him. The incredible sensations he wrought from her in the Fade paled in comparison to feelings his touch elicited now, and the feel of him hard and ready as he rolled his hips against her elicited a delicious ache in her belly. His intensity caused her hands to wander under his shirt and up his chest, whimpering as his mouth crushed hers before he began trailing hungry kisses across her jaw, finding his small nips intoxicating.

She nibbled on his earlobe and was rewarded with a rumble of pleasure as his body trembled, his rocking ceasing only for a moment as she ran her tongue up the length of his ear. He withdrew then, deftly undoing the laces of his shirt and pulling it over his head before he descended upon her again, pressing the naked skin of his chest against hers while he trailed kisses from her chin down her chest to her tummy, where he hooked his hands on her breeches and gave a tug, removing them easily with a slight raise of her hips, pulling the fabric down her legs until her feet were free.

She watched him as he prowled back up her body, and she cupped his face in her hands, bringing him to her for a kiss, where his tongue delved into her mouth, exploring insistently, causing her to tremble before he broke away and worked back down her body, trailing kisses along her neck, her breastbone, her tummy, her inner thighs, her…

She gasped in surprise when he took her in his mouth, and she saw him grin as her fists balled in the furs of her bedroll. Never had she felt such a sensation as when he teased her bundle of nerves with his tongue, circling, sucking, kissing, his hands encircling her hips, bringing her closer as he held her, his fingers tightening against her skin. She could only wriggle and press against him and mewl helplessly in his hands as her body was consumed by her bliss and her love of him.

"Solas…" she moaned.

"Yes?" he removed his mouth to replace it with a practiced finger, teasing it inside of her as he watched her writhe on her bedroll, his eyes excited and his mouth slightly open as he breathed heavily.

"Solas, I want to feel you." She almost moaned, her eyes begging.

"You _are_ feeling me, vhenan." He teased as he bared his teeth in a smile. He added a thumb, which rubbed circles over her clit as she whimpered, her ability to speak rapidly diminishing as he sped his pace, his eyes impish.

"Make love to me, Solas…you are…too far away." She reached her hands up to him weakly, wanting his warmth and closeness, and he came into them instantly, grasping her elbows as he pulled himself up to kiss her sweetly before he rubbed the tip of his nose against hers, tracing it along her cheek until he nibbled an earlobe.

"Ma nuvenin." He whispered to her before kissing her cheek, his warmth disappearing from her for only a moment as he pulled away to free himself before returning to kiss her neck, hooking his arms under her shoulders.

She felt him spread her knees apart with his own, her breath hitching in her throat as she felt him press against her tummy, sure her heart was going to pound out of her chest as he planted a kiss where her pulse bounded in her neck.

He entered her with a quick thrust and she gasped at the pain as he filled her, but she smiled broadly at his groan of pleasure, his head dropping into the pillar of her neck. She clutched at him as he began moving ever so slowly to allow her time to adjust to him, thoroughly enjoying his labored breaths against her neck and the way his heart pounded against her chest. She brought a hand to the back of his neck and closed her eyes so that she could focus on his body as it moved around and within her, consuming her.

As he continued to rock his hips against her, her world narrowed to her lover and the feel of him moving inside her, enjoying the intimacy of their joining as pleasure replaced pain, moaning as she clung to him. He felt _incredible_ as he, encouraged, began to speed his pace, rolling his hips up into hers more insistently, grinding, and she found the knowledge that pleasuring him drove her own higher as she began to rock against him from below. His mouth found hers and they breathed into each other, her moans morphing into a chanting of his name into his mouth.

"Oh…oh…Solas…Solas…" she whimpered, trying to keep her voice low as she clung to him, delighting in how calling his named seemed to rile him, spurning him faster as he again buried his face in the nape of her neck, taking the flesh between his teeth as he groaned into her skin.

As she wrapped her legs around his waist, she again felt the tendrils of his magic ghost down their flush chests to find her nub, where it caressed the tiny bundle of nerves eagerly, rubbing small circles as he continued his rocking, the pleasure in her belly building, building, building…

"Oh…wow…never felt…Solas….oh, Solas…_Solas._" she came hard, her entire body pulsing with her orgasm as wave after wave ran through her. Solas continued to move against her throughout, only letting himself spill into her with a groan when she was spent and lay quivering beneath him.

They lay there, panting and joined as the world slowly widened. She ran her arms along his slightly sweaty skin of his back and caressed his legs with her own before she arched into him ever so slightly, teasing.

She felt him grin against his neck through his ragged breathing, enjoying the feel of his heart as it still pounded against her.

He pulled back enough to be able to gaze into her eyes, and ran the back of a finger across her cheek.

"You are so beautiful." She grinned and nuzzled his cheek with the tip of her nose.

"That was…." Her chest heaved. "_Wow." _ He chuckled before withdrawing from her and sitting back, placing the heel of his hand on her pubic bone, curling his fingertips over her coarse hair onto her lower belly. His hand glowed blue, and she felt the whisper of his magic as it probed her. She giggled and squirmed at the tickling sensation, but allowed it, trusting him as he grinned.

"What was that?" she asked, curious.

"An ancient spell of contraception. I figured our newfound…intimacy will be scandalous enough for our comrades without complicating matters with a child." She flushed, realizing she had not considered such a mechanic.

He laughed lightly. "Do not be disconcerted, vhenan. I'm sure your trust of me allowed you to lower certain barriers that you would have considered with less…able men." He waggled an eyebrow.

"Ugh…you are so smug sometimes." She laughed, holding out her hands to him. His eyes softened before he replied.

"At this moment, emma'lath, I have every reason in the world to be smug." He came to her then, laying beside her with his hand propped on his elbow. She took her time to look at him, then, entangling her fingers on his chest hair as he closed his eyes, enjoying her touch.

"You know…I have always wondered why you have no hair on your head, for I've never seen you shave it…and I now see that it's because it is growing out of your chest." He barked at a laugh, eyes still closed, but didn't reply.

"Then there's…" she felt heat rise in her face, unable to say the word as she looked at it. She had seen a few before when Keeper Mellari taught her basic healing magic, but never paid too much attention. Now she paid lots of attention.

She felt eyes on her and looked up to see Solas watching her examine him, a wide grin on his face. She flushed ever deeper, feeling like her face was about to burst into flames.

"Why, Arya…I do not recall ever seeing you so red…" he grinned wickedly at her, thoroughly enjoying her discomfort, his shoulders back and brazen as he posed.

She was so embarrassed that she wanted to die.

"Oh, shut up." She muttered, then ignored him as she ran her hands along his muscled chest and lower, curious. She grinned at his intake of breath when she touched him, her inquisitive fingers exploring shyly.

As she continued to explore, experimentally stroking and caressing, Solas eventually batted her hands away and kissed her eagerly. They made love again, Solas allowing Arya to set the pace as she explored his body, growing comfortable with their nakedness as she touched him, riding him slowly as his hands guided her hips, learning the rhythm of how their bodies moved together.

Her confidence grew and she rode him to his orgasm, thoroughly enjoying how he arched into her as his head fell back against the furs of her bedroll as he emptied himself into her.

They snuggled together afterwards under her furs, whispering to each other long into the night, enjoying their closeness, both thrilled by the discovery of each other as they waited for either sleep or the dawn to come.

* * *

><p>I know it's a little unorthodox to change POV midchapter…but meh. It's how I wanted to do it. :D I hope the transition wasn't too awkward for you all, because I am very pleased.<p>

I had expected this monster of a chapter to come much later, but I really wanted to have it finished before classes start back on the 5th, since my writing is going to slow to a crawl (and it's slow to begin with).

Happy New Year's!


	6. Atrocities Part I

So I have been rereading Elizabeth Haydon's Symphony of Ages and one of her scenes inspired this plot-bunny. I _**highly**_ recommend the series for those of you who are unfamiliar with it. I also incorporated some flavors from the city elf origin in DA:O, of which I think adequately portrays the backward nature in how the humans treat elves.

This is a rather dark few chapters. Fair warning. It's not quite Watchmen-esque, but…yea…

I imagine this might be a sort of AU prologue to the human-elf war that we know is coming once Solas begins his vengeance. Go, baby, go!

This before the very last return to Skyhold before Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, a least a few months after Here Lies the Abyss.

* * *

><p>Atrocities Part I<p>

They had spent an rather enjoyable morning shopping in Val Chevin, Arya giving her companions the day off in order to enjoy themselves and see the city while Varric and Sera searched for the Nightingale's contact, a man named Reynauld, who was currently in hiding. He had refused to elaborate his situation by raven, only elucidating that he had information regarding Corypheus. Leliana had asked them by raven to collect him, as they were in Val Royeaux at the time, following the man that they called Blackwall. A boat would be arriving for them within the week to ferry them across the Waking Sea to Halamshiral, where they would provide an armed escort for the man as they returned along the Imperial Highway to Skyhold.

She had thought for great length about whether or not her journey into the city proper was wise, unwilling to reveal her presence for some want of anonymity. But she wanted to have a day to spend with Solas, and this would be their first chance to have a conventional date, and she was curious in how it would play out.

She had asked Solas to try to cover her blood markings with colored powders or magic, but the vallaslin rejected them both. Sighing, she had conceded that she would walk cowled at Solas's side, her face hidden by the hood of her cloak. As they were preparing to leave, she frowned at the elf's bald head.

"You know, Solas…you rather…stand out." he looked at her and she gestured to his head. His face darkened at her implication.

"And what would you suggest I do about it…if I were to consent to such nonsense?" he asked cautiously.

"YES!" they heard Varric call, laughing. "Give Chuckles a wig!" he then roared with laughter as Solas scowled at him.

"No." refused Solas, his blue eyes flinty.

"Solas…" Arya begged. "I can't even show my face. We're trying to blend in as much as possible, and you as an elf will be strange enough without me walking beside you, being all mysterious and hidden."

"People will be able to follow you easily," agreed Varric seriously. "I mean…they would just follow the shine of the sun off your noggin." Varric sniggered as Solas glared at him.

Iron Bull had watched the exchange in silence, thoughtful, then rummaged in his pack, producing a black, curly wig. The three friends stared at him in amazement. Iron Bull shrugged.

"What? I'm a spy. I have spy shit."

Arya could only stare. "How would a wig help _you_ blend in?" she gestured to his enormous physique, grinning at the mental image.

"Helps me get into character," to which Varric and Arya both roared with laughter.

It took much cajoling and pleading to get Solas to put on the wig, which he did after about ten minutes. He stood back as the elf, Qunari, and dwarf all surveyed the image of him with hair, trying desperately to not laugh as he scowled at them under his beautiful black curls. Arya had to admit that she almost liked him with hair.

Almost.

The tips of his pointed ears would still be visible, but it would help passerby by from noticing too much. His bald head make his pointed ears all the more conspicuous.

They had succeeded not laughing admirably until Sera emerged from the dingy house in which they were staying. She took one look at Solas before she fell to the ground laughing, clutching her belly as she rolled back and forth. Solas scowled and removed his wig irritably.

"Sera….stop!" Arya said, holding her hand over her mouth to hide her own laugh.

"But he's…he's..." they never knew what he was as she couldn't stop laughing enough to say it, tears streaming down her face she kicked the ground in her mirth.

"Come on, Solas." Arya took his arm and led him from the group, stopping to grab the wig he threw at Iron Bull. She mouthed a "thank you" to the Qunari before running after her love.

When they made it a short distance, Arya stopped him and turned him to face her. He was still scowling, but his eyes softened when they met hers. She held out the offensive garment and the scowled returned. He hadn't taken the wig from her hands.

"Please, Solas. You know it's for the best. Let your _pride_ falter for just this one day?" She knew she'd won in how he sighed heavily.

"It's itchy." He complained is such a childish voice that Arya laughed, but stopped when he glared at her.

"Solas…I'm going to be hot in this. You don't look bad with it on, really, you look good with it. It sets off the blue of your eyes nicely. We were just laughing cause it's…different." She said sincerely. She held his gaze and his hand snatched out to grab the wig before putting it on his head roughly.

She adjusted it for him and stepped back to survey her handiwork. He really did look good in it, were he to stop scowling. She smiled and stood on her toes to kiss him.

"Ma serannas, emma'lath." He nodded without reply, but took her hand and they walked in the direction of the city.

She enjoyed the morning as she watched the shopkeepers peddle their wares, having Solas be her face, buying some spices for her cooks at Skyhold and specialty paper and a new pen for Josephine. The shopkeepers eyed him warily, some with open disdain, eyes inevitably staring at his ears. A few even refused to sell to them. To the few shopkeepers who were friendly to him, Arya paid them much more for their wares than was necessary, thoroughly enjoying the looks of loathing their fellow shopkeepers shot the vendors as they gratefully bowed their thanks. She had more than enough money and anything she could ever want would be bought for her by the Inquisition, so she enjoyed sharing her wealth.

"Could you recommend a friendly establishment where we might have lunch?" Solas asked an apothecary after they paid for some new potion recipes. They saw her eyes flick to his ears as she caught their meaning in that he wished to have an unharried lunch. She looked to Arya's hidden face before meeting his gaze again.

"Somewhere private." He added, and watched the woman consider.

She gave them some directions to a tavern a few streets over from the main market square.

As they turned down a side street from the market, Solas spoke. "That…might not have been wise, vhenan." He murmured to her as they left the main market square, referring to her generous distribution of wealth to elf-friends.

She shrugged. "I'm not going to apologize for rewarding decency."

"The shopkeepers might take it upon themselves to haze those that you overpaid." She pursed her lips, having not thought about that.

"Well…what's done is done." She said, sadly. "We can only hope that those with empty pockets learned their lesson about tolerance." He took her hand as they continued walking, eyes wandering to the run down shops that flanked them to either side.

"It's amazing that these buildings are in such disrepair, yet so close to the city's main market." commented Arya, gesturing to a dilapidated shop, blackened by fire. There was a small group of dirty human children playing a game in the house's gravel lawn with a leather ball, kicking it to each other and laughing, but they halted when they saw the pair. There was a whispered exchange between them and then they ran, the largest grabbing their dirty ball as he fled. Solas and Arya watched as they ran down the direction in which they came.

"Cassandra says that the Lord here is particularly stringent with his taxes in attempt to keep his people in deliberate poverty."

"That's horrible!" cried Arya in outrage.

"It discourages revolt." Solas grimaced. "Why would your subjects bother to arm themselves when they can barely afford the bread to feed their families?" Arya's eyes travelled in the direction that the dirty street children, realizing how their clothes hung loosely on their bodies, flapping against them as they ran.

"Ouch!" Solas cried has he withdrew his hand, shaking it as looked at her reproachfully. She realized her fist had clenched into a ball, the fingernails digging into the flesh of her palm. She laughed apologetically, stretching out her hands and flexing the fingers to loosen them.

"I am sorry, ma'arlath," she said through her smile before taking his hand again.

They walked in silence for a while, trying to ignore the scandalous whispers they received from the shopkeepers and passersby that sparsely peppered the side streets in which they walked.

The eventual found the grubby pub, the Iron Flask Inn, eyeing it dubiously as they approached, but walked in, the bell on the door tinkling to announce their arrival. The taproom's atmosphere was pleasant and warm, lit with numerous candles that ran along the length of the wall and from a large iron ring that was suspended from the ceiling. Arya was surprised – it was scrubbed clean and the bar's few patrons were laughing. There was no bard, as it was too early in the day.

Solas inclined his head politely as the patrons turned in their barstools to survey the newcomers, and they waved in greeting and turned back around, much to both of the elves' surprise.

Solas picked his table strategically so that he could be facing the door, Arya watching the bar. They were out of the peripheral view of the men at the bar, so if they were watched, Arya would be able to notice the shift in their seats. She still not dare lower her hood.

"Well, that was the nicest welcome we've gotten all day." Arya said quietly, pleased.

"I was rather surprised, myself. I imagine they see few elves." he stopped as they were approached by a young tavern wench, her brown her pulled neatly in a bun. She smiled broadly at them.

"Good afternoon, sir…" she greeted Solas, "And ummm….miss." Arya nodded through her hood as the woman guessed. She smiled, pleased with herself.

"What can I get for you? We've got some bread baked fresh yesterday morning and a shepherd's pie I made myself this morning." The last words were said with a hint of pride. Solas smiled.

"Well then," she was surprised to hear Solas speak in the Fereldan dialect, and had to hide a giggle, thankful for the shelter of her cowl.

"We shall both have some of your shepherd's pie, miss, with a nice thick slice 'o bread each." He threw her his most charming smile and the girl blushed. Arya had to beat back jealousy.

"And be a good girl and bring me a pint of ale, would you? My friend will have some water and a glass of wine." The girl nodded meekly through her shy smile before bustling away.

"What was that all about?" she glowered, sullen, her voice quiet.

"Blending in." he said smugly, and she knew he was repaying her for her insisting on his wig.

"Here you go." The wench had returned with their drinks, setting them down on the table, making sure she bent down in front of Solas slyly so that he got a good view of her ample cleavage.

"Thanks, pretty." Solas threw that charming smile at her again and winked. She giggled as she ran into the backroom for their food.

"I'm not sure if we should be drinking." She said dubiously, ignoring his flirtations. He shrugged and took a long draft from his mug. He sighed his pleasure.

"Arya…we are in a tavern. It will look strange if we don't engage in all of their services. One will not hurt. Besides…" he waggled his eyebrows. "How can I flirt with that waitress otherwise? She has nice….features." he chuckled as she scowled.

"I hate you."

"Nah you don't, love." He responded in his Fereldan accent and Arya giggled.

The girl returned with their food and set the steaming plates in front of them with a smile. She glowered as one of the bar patrons called her over just then, but nodded politely to them before bustling away.

The food was plain, but excellent, and Arya devoured her meal quickly, sopping up the last of the meat pie's gravy with the thick slice of bread. As she pushed her plate away with a satisfied sigh, Solas grinned at her. She sat back with her glass of wine and watched him eat, smirking at his newfound black curls.

"You know…" she said, "Those men are the bar have completely ignored us the entire time we have been sitting here. There was only one fellow who looked at us, and it was when the waitress came to give us our orders. From the way he watches her, I imagine it's only because he's sweet on her."

Solas nodded, having finished his meal. They sat in silence, enjoying their full and warm bellies as they finished their spirits. They then stood to leave, Solas leaving a large coin on the table that more than paid for their meals. The waitress approached them then, seeming sad that they were leaving.

"You were right, m'dear. It was delicious. We thank you." He said in his Fereldan. He clasped both of her hands and kissed them before winking at her and following Arya out of the door.

"I hope that gesture was to give her coins that her boss wouldn't see." Arya warned as they left the pub. Solas chuckled, taking her own hand and kissing it.

"Why, of course." He consoled "Shall we head back?" Arya looked at the sun, considering.

"Let's give Sera and Varric more time. Can we go see the Chantry?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

"What?"

"Nothing. Let us go." He said, amused.

He asked a guard for directions, who gave him a once over before roughly pointing in a direction with some gruff and vague directions. Solas thanked him and gave him a coin before they walked off.

Before they turned down a side street, Solas stopped. She laughed at his excitement when he pointed out an Enchanter's shop, its clean, whitewashed exterior an anomaly amongst the grimy shops and homes that surrounded it. Grinning, they all but ran to the shop, surprised that such a place existed in the conservative city, let alone so far removed from the wealth of the market.

She consented to let him wander the shelves, her own eyes wandering as she meandered her way to the front of the shop where they kept the more expensive specialty items and trinkets on purple velvet in a clean glass case. She admired the baubles, conceding that she could treat herself to a new piece for her staff, noting a large collection of rings meant to stabilize the staff's head to its shaft.

The Tranquil at the counter greeted her in his monotone voice, informing her that if she wanted to see his wares more closely, he could remove them from the case for her to inspect. She quieted her momentary rage at the sun emblazoned on his forehead as she looked up to thank him, gratified that the hood concealed her face for the second time that day.

She glanced over her shoulder to see Solas inspecting a large collection of dried herbs on layered shelves, looking pleased at the selection as he picked up a jar. There were no other patrons in the store, but she was still worried about the guard who sat in the corner behind the counter, apparently disinterested in her or anything besides sharpening his dagger.

The astute Tranquil must have seen her gaze around the shop and how she stiffened when she noticed the guard. Determined to make a sale, he turned to his guard and told him to run to the market to pick up some parchment. The guard sheathed the dagger he had been polishing and left obediently without even glancing at them.

"You do not have to worry about his discretion, friend." He told her in his monotone voice "Nor mine. Many of my clientele are private people, and my confidence comes without a price. I would lose precious business otherwise."

"Isn't that dangerous? You have no idea who I am. I could be here to kill you." she wondered, genuinely curious. If Tranquil were capable of shrugging, this one did so with an almost imperceptible raise of a single shoulder.

"Any person who wished me genuine harm would not be dissuaded by one guard." He admitted. "Now…is there a piece that you would like to see?" he gestured to the glass case.

Reminded, she pointed to a metal ring, trying hard to contain her excitement. He covered his hands with a kerchief, picked up the trinket gingerly, and extended his hand to her.

The silver charm depicted a pair of frolicking wolves surrounded by artfully twisting leafy vines, its edges trimmed with white fur. The craftsmanship was extraordinary, and there were even tiny emeralds for the wolves' eyes, which flickered in the candlelight of the shop. She fell in love with it instantly, awed as wondering hands turned it over in her palms, admiring.

She felt warmth at behind her as Solas placed a hand in the small of her back and looked over her shoulder at her prize. He had placed several books on the counter along with a small collection of herbs in jars as she held it up proudly for his inspection.

"Wolves? Shouldn't stags be wary of wolves?" he teased, referencing her clan's sigil. Pleased that he remembered this, she shrugged and placed the piece in his outstretched palm.

"I have never understood the human's vilification of wolves: they are the most magnificent and intelligent of predators." She threw a glance at the Tranquil, deciding that she would trust his discretion. "Their social structure reminds me a lot of the Dalish, actually, the way they hunt in packs and fiercely protect their own. Packs are family." She saw him smile as she extended her hand to him.

She took the bangle from him and turned it over in her hands, having to suppress a giggle of delight with her find.

"One particularly rough winter, my clan spent most of it huddled in a valley that belonged to an ancient wolf pack. They kept to themselves, never showing more than an almost…polite curiosity unless we strayed too close to their den." She ran her appreciative fingers along the polished metal.

"This fur reminds me of a particular wolf. Did you know that wolves mate for life?" He shook his head, feigning ignorance. She nodded, and turned back to examine her prize.

"One of the older males died, and his mate refused to go out and hunt, or to even eat what the others brought back for her. She even refused the cooked meat I offered. Toward the end, she let me approach her until, eventually, I could pet her head and scratch her ears. Her fur was so, so soft. She licked my hand." She smiled at the memory.

"I sensed…an incalculable sadness in her, one that would be impossible to heal. It's like…she lost the will to live. She just lay down next to her mate and stayed there until she died. I was with her when she passed." she said sadly.

"I made a funeral pyre for them both and asked Fen'Harel to look out for them as they were carried off by the wind. My clanmates were furious I hadn't taken their pelts, for wolf fur is soft and warm and she was so, so beautiful…but…I just couldn't defile their bodies that way. It felt wrong. Keeper Marelli had also agreed, so I knew that I had made the right choice." she fell silent then, contemplating.

"Pay the man. Well." She ordered, her manner changing abruptly, oblivious to the softness of his eyes as he looked at her with wonder. He smirked at the command and pulled enough coins from his purse to cover her trinket and his book and herbs, with a generous tip.

"Thank you, sir." Solas nodded politely to the shopkeeper. The Tranquil bowed his head in his thanks. "I wish you luck. Tell your friends about this place."

She waited for Solas outside of the shop, having tucked the bangle into the pouch at her belt.

"Do you think that he could be convinced to join the Inquisition?" asked Arya as they resumed their trek to the Chantry.

"Possibly. His shop _was _quite impressive. I am sure he would be a worthy asset. And I sense that you also fear for his safety." Solas replied.

"Yes. We could give him a place where he could conduct his creations safely. I should ask Cassandra about it." She mused, then added, "There's something…wrong with this city. I can't quite place my finger on it."

"I also sense something, as well." His voice was quiet. "But I am not sure what."

The passed through many more shabby streets before the cobblestones emptied in a wide circle that thrummed with people. The Chantry stood before them, at the top of a rise of numerous stone steps upon which many people walked or sat.

Arya felt herself shrink away from the crowd of people, moving at the buildings' periphery as they made their way to the Chantry. Even at its edge, they were swallowed by the crowd of people of the square and Arya felt alarm growing in her heart from their collective nearness.

After navigating through the throng, they made it to the base of the stone steps. There was a large sign flanked by a priest whose arms were outstretched as he vocalized grandly. She examined this man with interest - she thought all Andrastian clergymen were female. The sign had numerous pieces of parchment posted to the wood in varying scripts.

"This is a Chanter's Board, with its Chanter." Solas told her, and Arya returned her gaze to the man.

"A Chanter?" asked Arya. The man that stood next to the board noticed the cloaked figure watching him. He turned to her and boomed,

"All men are the work of our Maker's Hands, from the lowest slaves to the highest kings…those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children are hated and cursed by the Maker!" he cried, his hands outstretched.

Arya was taken aback, unnerved at his proclamation.

"They are sworn to only recite the Chant of Light, a piece of oratory created by Andraste herself." Solas elaborated as the man turned his gaze to him.

"Hmph." Arya grunted noncommitingly.

"The Chanter's board is a place where those in need can place their requests." Solas continued and she turned to survey the board, ignoring the Chanter.

She looked over the sheets of parchment that were fighting to be seen, layers upon layers of paper that obliterated the wood backing from view. There was a request for silks, a noble asking for help locating her lover's ship lost at sea…need for some elfroot…the list went on.

"So…those that need help place their request here?" she asked.

"Yes. It's crude, but I hear it's effective in certain cities."

"Haven didn't have one."

"Haven's circumstances were…different," Solas began, but was interrupted by the Chanter.

"The one who repents," he cried, causing Arya to jump back, annoyed. "Who has faith, unshaken by the darkness of the world, she shall know true peace!" the Chanter shouted. She glared at him, wishing he would shut up.

She looked to the cobbled stones, noting that a few of the notices had fallen to the muddy ground. As she bent to pick up a soggy sheet of parchment, she heard commotion at the top of the Chantry steps and looked up, concerned. They were too far away to make out words, but Arya stood and watched from the foot of the enormous stone steps.

There was a loud and angry conversation between an elderly woman dressed in Chantry robes and a small, young woman in a shabby dress, who was pleading, gesticulating wildly as she begged and blubbered. The ruckus was drawing a crowd, the crowd of people stopping their business to stand in a wide circle around the pair. Arya watched as the woman fell to her knees and crawled before the priestess before placing her forehead on the hem of her robes. The women kicked at her in disgust, gesturing to a pair of Templars that guarded the Chantry's doors before turning and entering the building without a glance back at the groveling, wailing woman.

As the Templars approached the sobbing woman, she backed away frantically and stood to descend the steps in a rush, the crowd parting way for her as she fled, watching her. And the very bottom of the stairs, she tripped and stumbled, falling into a puddle which soaked her in dirty brown water. The crowd laughed derisively and resumed their affairs, apparently unconcerned.

Fury rose in Arya's heart and she walked the few paces to reach her as she huddled in the water, trembling. The woman recoiled from her outstretched hand as a dog would recoil from a master's angry hand, her eyes downcast as she trembled in fear.

"It's alright." She said quietly, encouraging. The woman didn't respond, but shied away from her further. Passersby stared at them, which Arya ignored.

"Please. I won't hurt you. I want to help." She layered her voice with sincerity, her aura tuned to the agony and shame that emanated from this woman. She had rarely felt such utter despair, and found she had to fight back tears in sympathy, her hand trembling as it remained outstretched.

Eventually, the woman reached out and took Arya's hand. As she tried to stand, she yelped and fell back into the puddle, clutching at her ankle.

"Are you hurt?" she asked the woman, alarmed.

"I…I think I sprained my ankle. I can't stand." She whimpered, her mouth quivering.

Solas came and knelt beside her.

"May I take a look?" She looked at him fearfully, then her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in surprise.

"You're…you're an elf." She said, voice wondered, and Arya felt the woman's defenses lower. Her eyes shifted between the two of them, and she was forcibly reminded that she remained cowled, a potentially sinister figure to this frightened and mortified woman.

"Yes." Solas replied. "May I look at your ankle?" She nodded then. Arya examined the woman more closely as Solas touched her ankle through the dirty water, probing with his magic as subtley as he was able. She was a small woman, her eyes a dark blue, her face angular. Her short black hair would be lustrous were it not dirty and unwashed. Her smallness and angularity suggested she was a city elf, her forehead bare.

Her suspicions were confirmed as the woman ran her fingers through her hair in her pain, briefly showing pointed ears.

"There is a slight fracture in one of your ankle bones, and you have also sprained it." Solas said, his voice academic as he assessed her. "We are starting to draw attention," he then said in a hushed voice. "Will you let me carry you?"

The woman hesitated. "I don't…I will get you all dirty." She said with a blush, ashamed, indicating the muddy puddle in which she lay.

"It matters not. They are only clothes." She considered, then nodded, holding out her arms to him. Solas took off his pack and handed it to Arya before he gathered her up carefully and stood. Arya adjusted the pack onto her back and they retreated in the direction that they came, well aware of the eyes upon them. As they left the commotion of the square, she felt her heart swelling with pride at the chivalry of her mate.

They had travelled a few streets in a hurried silence until they were sure they were not being followed, stopping in front of an old abandoned house. Arya looked around to ensure that they were alone before she kicked the door open and went inside to scout. She emerged into a kitchen, worn from disuse. The house was old, judging from the thick layer of dust that coated every surface. She kept magic ready in case of ambush as she explored, though she was certain that they were alone. The next room she entered was a living room, of which a dusty couch lay in front of a crumbling hearth. She returned to Solas.

"There's a couch in here we could lay her on. Come." Solas followed her and carefully lay the woman down onto the couch before holding out his hand to Arya. She took off his pack and handed it to him.

"What's your name?" asked Arya as Solas rifled through his pack for his healing supplies.

The woman looked at them, unsure.

"What…what do you want with me?" she asked, slightly fearful.

"To help." Said Arya simply, unable to come up with more adequate words.

"Why? Why help me? I'm nothing to you." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"If you were nothing to us, we would've left you in that puddle." responded Arya as Solas withdrew some bandaging cloth from his pack. He stomped on a cracked floorboard, breaking it and wrenching a piece of wood free.

"Why would you care about an elf?" she asked, her eyes on Solas as he approached her, kneeling by her foot.

"May I bandage your ankle?" Solas asked. "If we don't brace it soon, there will be a good chance you won't be able to walk on it again anytime soon."

She looked at him, unsure, but eventually nodded.

"Arya, I'm going to set the ankle. Will you tie this along the outside of her ankle? We need to prevent her foot from rolling inward." Arya took the offered cloths and makeshift brace, nodding her readiness.

"This will hurt, alright?" he told the woman, who nodded, her fingertips gripping the dusty couch. Solas grasped her forefoot and pulled, twisting slightly. The woman yelped in pain as Arya quickly bound the splint on her ankle.

"Leave that last bandage for me – it has to be tied a specific way." said Solas, so Arya left him to it and sat on the floor by the woman's head.

"He called you Arya…are you an elf, too?", her eyes intense and watering from the pain. Arya thought about it, deciding that this woman was harmless and she would do no harm by revealing herself. She raised her hands to her hood, hesitated, then lowered her hood from her face. The woman's eyes widened as she looked at Arya, her eyes drawn to her vallaslin and her ears.

"We're helping you because we cannot tolerate injustice," Arya said, letting her hands fall. She ignored Solas's disapproving gaze.

"You're _both_ elves." she said with awe. "Them marks….are you one of those Dalish elves we've heard about?" she asked.

"Yes. Have you never seen a Dalish before?" the woman shook her head.

"Hahren Roran told us about your people, but I've never seen any elves outside our alienage before." She said, unable to take her eyes from Arya, wincing as Solas tied off the bandage and came to sit next to Arya.

"What's your name?" Arya asked again, taking the woman's hand, holding her gaze. She looked down, her black hair falling forward and obscuring her blue eyes.

"Ellya." She answered, shy.

"What were you doing at the Chantry, Ellya? Why did they treat you that way?"

Ellya's eyes remained downcast, ashamed. "They treat us elves all like that, mum. We're elves. It's what we deserve. We don't deserve no Maker." She said, sad.

"So you knew they would react that way? Why did you go, then?" Arya asked gently. Solas had remained silent. Ellya remained silent.

"Ellya…please tell us." Arya appealed.

"How do I know this isn't some type of trick?" her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"You don't." said Arya simply. "You just have to trust me." Arya watched her, hopeful. Her intense blue eyes moved between the two of them, deciding.

"I…I was looking for my son." She bit her lower lip, her eyes filling.

"Your son? Was he at the Chantry?"

"No…he's…he's…" the lip began to quiver under her teeth. "He's GONE! I can't find him! He's been missing for days!" the elf wailed and Arya's heart went out to her. She raised herself onto her knees and hugged the sobbing woman, letting her cry into her shoulder.

"Why did you think that he would be in the Chantry?" asked Arya gently, rubbing her back encouragingly.

"I didn't really." The woman sniffed and pulled back, wiping her nose on her dirty sleeve. Solas offered her his handkerchief, and she shot him a grateful look before wiping her face. "I just…I just didn't know who else to ask for help. The guards won't help me. They don't care about us elves. It's just like Mannie said."

"Mannie?" asked Arya, confused. Ellya nodded.

"Mannie is my friend, our baker. Her daughter is missing, too. When she went to the guards, they kicked at her and laughed and told her to crawl back down the hole she came from. As they did with me." Arya gritted her teeth, effectively holding her temper.

"I was desperate…I didn't know what else to do…my poor little Ronnie!" She wailed, throwing her arms around Arya. Arya and Solas exchanged a grim look over the black hair.

"Both of your children are missing?" the woman nodded into her shoulder.

"There's been children ending up missing for the past two weeks. They just vanish."

"Vanish?"

Ellya went on to explain that for the past few weeks, elven parents would awaken to find their children's beds empty, the child gone without a trace and none of the authorities would help them. They questioned her for a while longer, but her obvious distress cut in the interview short, Arya unwilling to add to her distress, and they were now working against the setting sun.

Realizing that she would be unable to reach the alienage herself, Arya and Solas helped her to her feet. She could bear her weight slightly on the leg and the three of them hobbled down the vacant streets.

"Ellya!" a man's cry of relief sounded through one of the alleys and Arya turned to the source. Three male elves approached them, the red haired one the center crying her name again. "Ellya!"

"Byron!" Ellya called, relaxing. The red-haired elf in the middle sprinted towards them. Solas caught Ellya's arm as she stumbled when she released her hold from him, attempting to run to the man. The man swiftly caught up to him and enveloped her in his arms.

"Thank you! Thank you for helping her! I was so worried!" Byron said gratefully to them, shaking Solas's hand with his free one, the other holding Ellya close to him.

When they broke apart, the other two elves had caught up to them.

"Byron is my husband." Ellya explained to her rescuers, her face adoring as she looked at the elf.

"Did the Chantry agree to help?" Byron asked her, his face hopeful. She shook her head and his face fell. "Yea…I guess that's what we expected."

Arya looked at the setting sun uneasily. They needed to leave then or the gates to the city would close and they'd be trapped inside for the night.

"See that she gets home safe, alright?" Arya said as they turned to leave.

"Wait! Can't you help us?" he pleaded, grasping her arm. "I assumed she mentioned our plight." Arya looked back to him, weighing her words as she met his desperate eyes before she looked back at the sun.

"We have to leave now, but we will be back tomorrow. I promise you, we will come to the alienage." She said cautiously, wanting to provide more comfort than that.

"May I at least have your name?" Byron said as they turned to leave again. She looked at Solas, who shook his head and she sighed. She turned back to the man, who was frowning when she met his gaze through her hood.

"I am sorry, but our names would be dangerous to give to you at this time." His face darkened.

"You have to trust us." She continued. "We will return tomorrow, you have my word." She said.

"It's alright, Byron. They're okay." His wife consoled him. The man nodded and turned from them only then, his arm supporting her as one of his friends came under her other shoulder.

They watched the elves hobble away for only a moment before Solas grabbed her hand and they ran for the gates, Arya needing to clasp her hand to her head to trap the fabric so that it would cover her face in their flight. They slowed to a walk only as they approached the main square, not wanting to draw attention to themselves anymore than they had already.

The barely made it before the gates before they slammed shut behind them. They dare not look back as they walked down the empty road as carelessly as they could manage, walking the last mile in silence.

When they made it back to camp, Cassandra and Cole were on watch, sitting next to each other on the stone wall that circled the abandoned village. When she caught sight of them, she let her body slide off of the wall upon while Cole watched them under his hat.

"We were worried you wouldn't make it back in time." She said, relieved as she approached. "Are Varric and Sera not with you?"

"No…they haven't returned?" Arya asked, worried.

"No…I was hoping that they had found you." Her face was bleak.

"Cole…could you keep watch?" the Seeker asked him. His hat nodded.

"Thank you."

They hadn't gone more than ten steps before they heard his voice.

"They are people approaching. They carry something…evil. It speaks of suffering…sad, sadistic as it sings its sorrow." His voice was frightened, and Cassandra drew her sword, approaching him, alarmed at his tone.

To their surprise, Varric and Sera came into view, slightly out of breath as the trotted towards them.

"How'd you guys get out of the gates?" Arya asked, curious, for they had been the last ones to leave as the gates and there had been no others on the road.

Varric smirked. "Gates? Who uses _gates_ nowadays?" Arya rolled her eyes and the dwarf laughed. Sera was unimpressed, her face set in a grimace. She walked right past them, muttering something about the "old fucker being downright barkin' mad" and "ugly shite floating around in fuckin' jars" before shaking her head and stomping to the house.

Arya cocked an eyebrow and turned to Varric, who she knew would actually provide some useful information. She was disconcerted by his grimace, and then by his request that they go inside the house to discuss the day's events - the dwarf rarely requested privacy.

The entered the main room of the house where most of their party sat around a small campfire. Cassandra rummaged in their food pack and handed them each some dried jerky and a lump of cheese.

Arya and Solas sat next to Varric, and all three of them sat chewing their simple food, not speaking. Their meal was punctuated with the regular thumps of a dagger striking wood – Sera was practicing her aim against the side of the house. Arya respectfully waited for Varric to finish before she asked for his report.

The dwarf inhaled deeply before he began.

"Sunshine has a point in that this guy was _crazy_. And I mean, crazy crazy – and that's seriously saying something coming from me. Big, wild grey hair and the like…" Arya found her curiosity piqued, if mirrored by trepidation.

"Well...what did he say? It must've been important. Leliana's note was…vague and urgent. She usually would give us much more to go on."

"I mean…I'm sure she would've given us more if she had any more to give cause this guy didn't tell me shit. Refused to even believe we were who were said we were. I mean, I understand his caution, but he seemed to be nothing more than a crotchety old fool musing in his experiments doing…god knows what." Varric said.

"Then we came all this way for nothing?" Arya asked, her face crestfallen.

"Not…quite. He refused to talk to _me._ He insisted on speaking to you in person. When I told him we needed a little more to go on, he gave me this, saying that it would convince you the severity of the situation."

Varric reached into his jacket pocket and produced a trinket that appeared to be a carving made of a dark wood, amorphous. As he offered it to Arya, Solas hurriedly snatched up the artifact, which startled her: his motions were intense, his arm snapping out to clutch the proffered token. The hedge mage examined the piece of wood, weighing it between his hands before holding it up to the light of the campfire.

"This is a piece of a vhenadahl." He said curiously "…a heart tree that resides in the center of most elven alienages. There's…." he frowned, turning the small wooden piece over in his hands before his eyes. "That's…strange."

"What?" asked Arya, curious and slightly apprehensive by the mage's frown.

"It's been corrupted. It seems it is a foci for…." he paused, then looked at her, eyes hardened.

"Blood magic." He finished. "Powerful and…sinister blood magic." He finished grimly.

Dead silence.

"Andraste's tits…" Sera, it seemed, had been paying attention, breaking the silence before the entire group erupted into simultaneous protestations.

"Are you sure? What…"

"How do you know?"

"Bloody _shit_"

"QUIET!" Arya had to shout to make herself heard, glaring at them all for silence. She, too, was rattled, but knew that the situation had to be handled carefully. She glanced at Cassandra, who spoke.

"Well…now we know why Reynauld insisted on not disseminating information by raven or emissary…it's lucky that we were nearby…" Her face was ashen.

"Solas…can you elaborate for us, please?" Arya asked. Solas's mouth was a thin line, his eyes ominous.

"I have a feeling that our Tevinter friend has a greater expertise in this area than I," Solas said, nodding at Dorian, who stood leaning in the doorway. He had been reading in the other room and come over to investigate the commotion.

"What do I have expertise in besides being dashing?" he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. He coughed awkwardly when they all stared at him.

"Just trying to relieve the tension…" he muttered as he approached them. "What can I help you with?" he asked seriously.

"What can you tell us of this?" Solas extended the trinket to the mage, who sat himself on the other side of Arya and held out his hand in which Solas placed the piece of wood. They watched intently as the mage frowned the instant Solas placed it into his hands, bringing it up to his face for inspection.

He was silent for a long time, occasionally enveloping the trinket in various forms of light. When he used a red light, they all covered their ears as the bauble shrieked, levitating into the air and oscillating viciously before it plummeted to the ground, where it sizzled as it smoked, puttering angrily.

"Well, _fuck_…" he exhaled as his face contorted in an angry grimace.

"Did…did that thing just scream…?" Varric's gruff voice was frightened, his ears still covered.

Dorian looked to Solas. "Where did you get this?" Solas gestured to Varric, who answered.

"The Nightingale's contact in Val Chevin gave it to us to bring back to the Inquisitor to convince her that she needed to come see him…then refused to speak to us anymore after he gave it to us."

"Odd…" the Tevinter scowled as he rubbed his chin with his forefinger and thumb in his contemplation.

"Well…this is very, very bad." He eventually declared. "This charm was the foci of a specific ritual…" he looked over to Cassandra worriedly, biting his lower lip before continuing. "Blood magic powered by failed human sacrifice."

The group just remained silent, horrified, as Solas nodded in assent, his suspicions confirmed.

"But…why? Reynauld said that this had to do with Corypheus...and that does not bode well..." Arya asked. Dorian shrugged, his eyes dark.

"I couldn't determine the nature of the spell beyond a summoning of some form. It failed, though. This charm," he gestured. "is…incomplete. It would be hard to describe to a non-mage how I know that. What they tried didn't work. Be careful with this contact…one has to wonder how he acquired such a thing…I wouldn't trust him" He thought for a while, chin still between his forefinger and thumb, and they waited for him to continue.

"I want to go with you when you meet this Reynauld and find out how he acquired such a powerful item. Magic of this caliber is only known by Tevinter magisters."

"Well…we can't meet with him today. The gates are shut." Arya bit her lower lip.

"I…could get you into the city if necessary, but I imagine this could wait a night." suggested Varric. Arya nodded.

"Yes…we will wait until tomorrow." Arya concluded.

"Solas...do it's think it's a coincidence that this…thing." She gestured to the piece of wood that remained smoking next to the fire "Is part of an elven heart-tree?"

Solas considered. "Had this incident occurred before what we witnessed today…yes, I would have considered it a coincidence." He replied. "Now…" he hesitated, "Now…I am not sure."

"Why? What happened today?" Cassandra interrupted.

Arya told the group about the incident with Ellya at the Chantry and what they were told of the missing Elven children.

"We are going to investigate the alienage tomorrow, as we had to return before the gates closed to make sure we met up with you all." Arya finished.

"This is serious." The Seeker mused. "Blood magic and several kidnapped Elven children. I am with the Tevinter…I would like to go with you when you meet Reynauld."

Arya nodded. "I think our best course of action is for all of us to enter the city tomorrow, staggered in small groups. Varric will lead Cassandra, Dorian, Solas, and I to meet with this Reynauld, but I think it should just be Solas and I that infiltrate the alienage. I would ask Sera, but…" _Sera's a stupid bitch when it comes to her own kind and wouldn't keep her damn mouth shut_…

"Shite's all fucked up, innit? Why do we have to involve ourselves? Just kidnap the old codger and let's get going while the going's good."

Arya had to bite back her temper, but the fire's roar betrayed her irritation.

"Because, Sera, we couldn't even do that until the boat arrives, and we're not sure what's going to happen if even if we did that." She said patiently. "Besides…as I commented to Solas today, there's something _wrong _with this city. Something's not right. And I want to figure out what it is. It would be wrong for us to walk away when we can do something about it."

It was a subdued evening, and the party barely spoke to each other. She waited for them all to turn in before consulting with her friend.

"Dorian…what do you think is going on?" whispered Arya.

"It figuratively kills me to say this…but I really don't know, sweet thing. But I agree with you…something is not right. And I am with you all the way. Just let me know when you would like to leave." She nodded and hugged him before trudging up the creaky stairs to the bedroom she and Solas shared.

A fire crackled in the hearth, and she saw Solas sitting shirtless in front of it on their bedroll, a book open on his cross legs as he read.

She smiled as she approached him. He turned as her footsteps elicited creaks in the ancient floorboards, slapping his book shut and then he held her arms out to her wordlessly. She came to him and he held her in his lap in front of the pensive fire. She buried her face in the hair on his chest, inhaling his scent deeply. His smell engulfed her, relaxing her. He kissed the top of her head and began the slight characteristic rocking he always did when he held her like this.

"What's going on, Solas?" she murmured. "Even in Adamant Fortress, I'd never felt things being so…so wrong. The hairs on my back stand on end and my heart hammers in my chest."

"I feel it, as well, vhenan. You were right that we need to investigate. The very air is foul. I thought it was my distaste in how the humans treated us, but now I see that it is something…more." They sat in front of the fire for a long time, enjoying their closeness. Eventually, Arya had to remove herself from her lover's arms to add more wood to the fire.

"Let us sleep, vhenan. We can ponder in our dreams." She nodded and climbed into their bedroll, burying her face in the furs. Solas crawled in behind her, pressing his chest against her back as he curled himself around her. She felt him press a kiss the back of her neck and she smiled, snuggling against him.

* * *

><p>Wolves are seriously some of the coolest creatures in existence - easily one of my favorite animals since I've been about 8 years old and read a children's series written by Jean Craighead George that begins with "Julie of the Wolves." The last book, "Julie's Wolf Pack" is my favorite, as it is written from the wolf pack's POV and talks about pack dynamics. Super easy reads for a rainy day if you all are interested.<p>

So yea…the reveal of Solas's identity elicited quite a girlish squee through the tears.

Sera and Vivienne has such high S-factor that I never, EVER brought them on missions. So I apologize to those who like Sera, but I wanted to slap her upside her freaking face so, so, so, SO many times. If I wasn't such a completionist, neither she nor Vivienne would be in my party.

…bitches.

Here's to a good semester! *drains glass of wine*


	7. Guiding Light

So I imagine there's no way the Inquisitor would come out of falling that hard out of the avalanche so easily.

I'm going to make my chapters shorter in hopes of getting more out for you all, as I'm in the full swing back into med school (ugh). I did really well on my behavioral med exam, so my reward is enough time to do a chapter! Yay!

Enjoy, loves. This is immediate post - In Your Heart Shall Burn

* * *

><p>Guiding Light<p>

She was falling through blackness, gaining momentum as she was buffeted about by unseen gusts of warm air – fire – twisting, evil tendrils reaching out, scorching her skin, whipping her. For the first time in her life, she was afraid of the element – the evil red flames poured forth from between the teeth of the giant dragon's maw. She attempted to slow her descent, only to find her magic gone.

She continued to fall, impotent against the flames that were perverse, intoxicating, burning as they engulfed her. Its smoke was gagging her, burning her eyes, making her cough and recoil in her horror.

A pure, clear light blazed in the darkness, the fire's evil tendril's shrieked as they recoiled, unable to penetrate its radiance. Relieved, she reached out to touch the light, outstretched fingers grateful and welcoming. Magic blazed through her when she made contact, the evils of the fire forgotten as the teal light filled her.

She awoke with a groan, eyes snapping open only to close instantly as the stabbing pain of a too-bright light pierced her eyes, causing blobs of color to dance across the backs of her eyelids. She rubbed her closed lids instinctively, fighting sudden nausea as the she felt the world swooping around her, making her both dizzy and lightheaded. She fought back against it desperately, having to swallow several times to calm her raging stomach. Controlling her nausea was all the more challenging as each beat of her heart made her head throb as the blackness swirled around her.

Her head felt fuzzy, dazed – she was…confused. What had happened? Had she fallen? She bit back her dizziness and thought. Yes….she vaguely remembered falling and hitting something large and unyielding. She didn't remember falling unconscious.

As she gained control of her vertigo, a sharp pain in her side made itself known, previously muffled by the disorientation of her waking. She removed a sheltering hand from her eyes and probed her ribs gently, yelping as her fingers reproduced the stabbing pain.

_I must've…broken it…it's like when I fell out of that old pine tree…only the world didn't heave in upset around me. I feel like I'm drunk…_

She grimaced, biting back another round of nausea as she took inventory of her body, her right hand rubbing her still tender eyes. She was cold, oh, so cold and her body shivered in an attempt to warm her, but the action only exacerbated her consummate soreness as she lay on the cold ground. Her chest ached horribly as it complained with each intake of breath, the pain of her rib distracting her as she breathed. Thankfully, her most prominent injury seemed to be that rib, although her right knee was also throbbing slightly.

She was becoming frustrated with her disorientation, made only worse by her pain and cold.

_What…what was I doing…?_ She was vaguely aware that her inability to remember was a bad sign. _Why…why do I feel like I should be dead..? I can't be dead…it hurts too much. _

An old memory surfaced through the haze: she was swimming in a river as a child with her friend Lily. They were playing a chase game, hopping from rock to rock when Lily had slipped on some moss and fell…Arya still vividly remembered the crack of her head as it smashed against a rock and blood began to pool from her scalp as her friend tumbled into the rushing water. She shrieked instantly, screaming for help as she swam to her friend and frantically began to drag her from the water, the current carrying them both downstream.

One of the hunters had been nearby and managed to wade in, grabbing the bleeding girl from Arya and rushing to land. She watched, sobbing, as he stepped on Lily's chest and she vomited up the water that she inhaled. The hunter scooped her up in his arms and ran the short distance to where they were camped, calling for the Keeper.

When Lily awoke, she was confused, weary, and threw up a bunch. She tried to speak, but her words were gibberish and made no sense. Even with all of the Keeper's experience, Lily was never the same - she would spook easily and would say odd, random things. She became withdrawn, and only ever stayed within sight of the aravels.

Arya's guilt at the incident remained strong even to this day.

She tenderly felt her head, wincing at the pain in her ribs, shivering as her fingers brushed a cool wetness under her curls. So that must be it – she had hit her head….no wonder she was so disoriented.

_Alright…you hit your head…now…where are you?_ Tried as she might, she couldn't remember…thoughts kept slipping away.

_Falling through fire…an evil fire…I don't remember ever disliking fire before. A dragon…? Why would I be so afraid? There was…_

_The light!_

She opened her eyes as she remembered, grimacing as the pain stabbed behind her eyelids again. She groaned. _Oh, right…_

"Too bright…" she muttered, fighting back nausea as the pain from the light throbbed in her head.

As if in response, she saw the light dim behind her closed eyelids. Curious, she opened one eye. The light made her eyes water, but the pain was tolerable, and she felt her head cock to the side instinctively at the odd sight.

A small, teal light was hovering in the air above her, the only thing she could see against the blackness. _That's…strange…_

_It looked so familiar…_

Eventually, she managed to open her other eye and she stared at it, trying to remember where it came from, why it felt so familiar, why she felt….safe by it being there.

Curious, she reached out to touch it, but it receded back from her searching fingers. She glowered at it, annoyed.

_Come on…where are you? You can't stay here. It's too cold…you'll die if you don't get warm_.

She allowed her to eyes to look past it, trying to see where she was, but the proximity of the light made her eyes unable to adjust to the pitch blackness around her.

She was beginning to grow frustrated, pain distracting her from her fuzzy thoughts as she tried to place where she was.

She was so cold…

She tried to call upon her magic to warm her, but it was out of reach, either from exhaustion or from her confusion. She frowned, genuine fear brewing in her heart at her predicament: she was cold, sick, alone, lost, and confused with no magic or means to get to warm.

_What should I do…?_

The light began to float away and she panicked – she hated the dark, and didn't want to be even more alone.

"No! Don't!" she called out, her terror making her forget her sickness as she sat up in alarm.

The instant she sat up, her stomach lurched as the world swooped around her and she quickly turned her head as she vomited. Each heave of her stomach was agony as her rib jabbed into her as her abdomen contracted. When she finished, she was shivering uncontrollably, and she brought her knees into her chest, grasping them close to her chest with shaking hands. She buried her head into her knees, willing the spinning to stop, willing the cold and the hurt and the terror of uncertainty to vanish.

She was terrified.

She began rocking backing and forth, hoping to generate some heat to abate her shivering. _Come on, Arya…The only way you will get warm is to keep moving – figure out where you are._

"Where are you?" she asked herself aloud, voice breaking as she fought back her despair. She felt a beckoning tug at her heart and looked up to see the light floating in front of her face, almost…inquisitive…as if to ask why she wasn't moving forward. She glanced at her surroundings, gazing into the distance to allow her pupils to dilate to see in the darkness.

She could make out that she was in a cave, no lights save for that of her companion, with boards and dilapidated equipment at its periphery. No means of creating fire, even if she had any magic left to conjure one.

She stared at the light again as it hovered lazily in front of her. Her brows furrowed as once more, she reached out a tentative hand to it. To her delight, it floated down onto her palm so slowly, warmth filling her hand as its magic kissed her fingertips.

She felt the lurch of her sickness being drawn from her as images and emotions rushed across her eyes in rapid succession. Those that were unfamiliar to her.

Contentment - Her own face as she laughed, running her hands through long red curls as she shook her head in amusement, gazing up as her eyes sparkled.

Amusement - Her playing Wicked Grace with Varric by his campsite, her brows furrowed in frustration as Varric smirked wickedly.

Admiration - Her flying through the thick canopy of pine trees, crouching down on a large branch and smiling at the ground before she leapt to another branch.

Pride - Her face contorted with anger as she struck a Red Templar with a fireball, her fists clenched and shaking with rage.

Arousal - Her wet, naked form as she bathed in a stream, running a small bar of soap over her body.

Empathy - Her sad, emerald eyes, one still slightly swollen and purple from the fight with Alexius

Wonder – Her as she faced down a giant darkspawn mage, gesticulating as she yelled at the creature, left hand glowing green.

Anger – The disfigured mage extending an orb as he tried to rip the Anchor from her hand, magic flowing between herself and the ugly thing as she cried out

Fear – The creature grasping her left arm, holding her aloft as it sneered at her as she kicked uselessly, trying to free herself before being viciously flung into the trebuchet.

Terror – the approaching avalanche as it plummeted down the mountainside, followed by her form as it retreated and dove out of sight.

These were all accompanied by a familiar smell – campfire, sweat, lyrium, herbs. A man's smell.

She felt her mind clear as the memories faded from her vision and being, her confusion vanishing as the world finally stopped spinning. She was overwhelmed, her heart expanding as her arm remained extended, frozen as the magelight floated away from her to hover at eye level about ten yards away. Her eyes filled.

Solas…

She remembered everything now, Solas's magic somehow clearing her head. She had a new enemy to face…this Corypheus, and her people were trudging through the mountains as they fled the hopefully vanquished Red Templar army. If his magelight were here, he must've survived the avalanche.

He was guiding her home.

"Ma serannas, Solas." She breathed, grateful as true hope flooded her, fueled her.

She stood slowly, her right knee wobbling as it bore her weight, her rib still stabbing her. She grimaced, but followed his retreating magelight like it was a beacon.

It was slow going, as she kept slipping on the ice as her shivering, weak feet betrayed her footing. As she staggered and fought against gravity and her own pain, she distracted herself with the memories she had seen through Solas's light.

Had he meant to show her these things? Was he controlling the magelight now… or was it acting on its own? They must be true…she saw no reason or means for him to deceive her, if he was even aware of what his light was doing.

A crack in the floorboards of a small bridge gave way, unable to support her weight as she fell through. She grimaced and extricated herself from it, inhaling sharply at the new cut along her calf. The blood that dribbled down her leg was chilly in the cave's cold air. She gritted her teeth and kept moving, but began to pay more attention to where she placed her tired feet.

Had she still been under the influence of her head wound, her trek would've been impossible. She was having a difficult enough time navigating without the world spinning around her.

She had to stop to rest often, for the trek was tiring for her exhausted body, and if she let her breaths become too deep, the pain in her ribs would be unbearable. The blood from the wound in her hair had long since frozen, its coldness against the tender flesh of her scalp burning, leeching warmth from her head.

_Slow and steady…just keep going._

She regarded Solas's magelight as it teasingly hovered just out of reach of her grasping, hungry fingers. How had he sent his light to her…? He must not be far away…else this draw on his power would be too significant for him to maintain it for this distance.

Did he do it to save her? Why? She felt his terror in his memories as the avalanche descended, but it seemed more than just a fear of self-preservation. Was he worried about what would happen to her?

_He must care for me. I could see how I looked at him when we were alone. It's obvious I care for him. He has obviously paid attention to me…Why has he kept me at a distance?_

She stopped again, shivering as she allowed her breath to slow, and tried once again to call her inner fire in desperation, but her attempts were in vain. She sighed, but took comfort that she'd be able to continue her pace if she continued to move slowly, her eyes locked on Solas's hovering magelight.

It continued to guide her through the windy, dank cave, amazed at the sophistication of his conjured familiar. Its light allowed her to momentarily suppress her pain, her cold as she hobbled forward, ever forward.

Eventually, she saw the glow of actual light as it illuminated the dripping, icy walls of the cave and her heart leapt. Had she the strength, she would've most likely run to its source in her joy.

_Must pay attention…keep focused…you are doing it. Come on. Keep going._

When she emerged from the cave, the wind roughly threw her onto her onto her left side and she shrieked, curling in a ball in the snow, clutching at her ribs. Her clothes provided no protection against the biting wind even nestled on the ground, and she shivered uncontrollably for she was already so cold….so cold…

The magelight came to her, hovering above her. It beckoned, encouraging her to continue.

_So…so cold_.

But she did as it asked, knowing relief would only come from reaching her goal…

Or death.

She was glad Solas's light was with her, for she'd have had no way of knowing where to go – the world was a white landscape, the horizon obliterated from view by the storm. There were no mountains, no trees, just a wagon buried in the snow a short distance away. She started towards it, having to pick her knees up high to clear her bare feet of the snow.

Each step was agony, especially when she needed to bear weight on her right leg. Her ribs stabbed her with each step and breath, her legs and entire core shaking with exhaustion and cold. For the first time, she wished she had accepted the boots that Harritt had made her, for with each step, the snow came up between her toes, burning the tender flesh, leeching precious warmth from her body.

She kept her head down, fighting against the wind that threatened to blow her sideways again. She reached the wagon, but found no usable items, not even a blanket, and its broken hull would do nothing to keep out the wind. Sighing, she continued on, following Solas's guiding light.

_Keep going, Arya. Keep going. Come on, you can do it. I know it hurts, I know it's cold, but it won't get better if you stop. Come on._

Time had no meaning as she trudged forward...it was just an endless repeating cycle of putting one in front of the other. Left foot, then right foot. Hold it steady as it wobbled. Left foot, right foot.

_So…cold…_

She fell over twice more, each time emerging more cold and miserable than before she fell. Numb, blue fingers brushed the snow from her clothes as she struggled to stand, unwilling to disappoint his magelight. She pinched the tip of her finger and felt nothing. Fright fueling her, she continued on.

She wanted to be there for her people, wanted to make sure Corypheus did not succeed, despite her want to give up.

_Show that bastard what you are made of. Come on. For Solas. Don't let his work be for naught. Come on. You can do it._

She thought back to the images of her face through his eyes, they way his heart warmed as he looked at her, how his eyes traced her face, watched her hair as she brushed it with her small fingers. His eyes had found her so much, and his fingers ached to reach out and touch her.

_He cares for you. You know have proof. Come on. You can't love him if you're dead. COME ON!_

She almost stumbled over a campfire whose coals were unmercifully cold. She sighed as she continued, noting how each step cost more, hurt more, took longer to bring out of the snow.

_So…so cold._

_Left foot, right foot._

She was only vaguely aware of her surroundings, only noticing once that she was now amongst the trees. She looked up in confusion, but her body betrayed her want to suppress her fear.

There was only consuming cold and pain.

There was only Solas's smiling face, his magelight as it kept ahead of her, willing her to continue. And the mantra.

_Come on, keep going. You must keep going._

_Left foot. Right foot._

She had long since lost all feeling in her fingers, her arms hanging uselessly as she plodded on. Her legs began to shake unbearably. She had gained newfound strength when she came across a fire whose coals in the center were still slightly warm. She clutched at them, letting the pain of warmth burn as it bought time for her fingers, the tips blackened from the cold. Only when she had drained the coals of their valuable heat did she force herself to stand and continue. Willing herself to follow his magelight.

_You must be almost there…come on._

_Left foot. Right foot._

She fell three more times, each time finding it more difficult to rise, terror filling her when she almost failed to stand on each attempt, her shaking limbs rebelling against her. Her triumph was only ever short lived, for the cold was leeching the life from her, sapping her will and strength, slowing her pace.

_Left foot. Right foot_…her weak knee finally gave out as she fell forward into the snow, which puffed up in a white cloud around her.

This fourth time, she could not stand. The world was starting to feel warm and dreamlike, her head abuzz. She lay there, unable to even acknowledge the magelight as it hung above her head, calling to her desperately to continue. She was unable to recall why she was moving forward…why she was fighting against the snow and cold. It must've been for good reason.

Tried as she might, her muscles would not obey her. She lay there, her cheek pressed against the snow, feeling her life drain from her.

_Get up…get up, Arya. You will die. You will die if you can't get up._

_I…I can't. I can't move_. She heaved with all her strength and could only manage to lift her head before it limply fell back onto the snow.

How strange….it seemed warm…everything felt…good.

Her world was filled with teal light - that bright, radiant light that saved her from the dragon's evil fire.

_His_ light.

_Solas…_

She blacked out.

* * *

><p>She awoke slowly as a familiar scent filled her. A smell of lyrium, elfroot, sweat, man….<p>

"Solas…" she sighed contentedly. Death must not be so bad…she was warm and comfy, feeling safe in her furs. She turned her head with her eyes still closed, nuzzling the soft furs against her cheek before sighing again. She turned onto her left side, and grinned when the pain no longer stabbed at her, but she could tell it was still there. Everything felt surreal and light. Felt good.

Her thoughts were fuzzy, but not the debilitating kind she had endured when she had awoken before. It felt…more like a soft pillow was pressed over her mind, muffling all but the softest of thoughts, calming. She felt the pressure of a body sitting at the edge of her bed, which must be a cot by the way it creaked and groaned under the weight.

She tried to open her eyes, but couldn't muster the energy or a reason for which to do so. It was so warm in the furs…and she was so tired, so comfy.

She felt the pressure of a finger as it gently brushed her temple and stroked down to her cheek, and she leaned her head into it, smiling, for its scent was that of his.

She managed to convince her eyes to open, and they sleepily met those intelligent, steely blue ones, strangely soft as they looked at her. His hand moved up to brush a stray curl from her face.

"Am…am I dead?" she asked, her words slurred slightly as she held his gaze, unconvinced this was the real Solas. His eyes crinkled in a smile as she felt him chuckle softly

"No, da'len." He murmured. "Are you surprised?"

"Honestly, yes…" she replied, voice quiet. He smirked slightly, his palm resting against her cheek, the thumb stroking the soft skin gently.

"You gave us all quite the scare." He said quietly, his eyes searching her face.

"It's just…as I lay in the snow…everything started to grow warm and I felt myself…slip away. And I woke up and…" _you were here_. Her thoughts finished.

"You…you saved me." She said, her voice quiet as she felt her eyes fill.

"Yes." He replied.

She waited for him to elaborate, but he did not, his face unreadable.

"When I touched your light…I…I saw…" she felt flustered as her words drifted off, unsure of whether or not to tell him he saw her memories, whether or not he already knew.

The air between them was heavy, ripe with anticipation. The smile drained from his face as he looked at her, his eyes hardening with that familiar, distant determination as he withdrew his hand.

"You are tired…you should rest." And he stood, leaving her cot before she could mount a protest.

She didn't even have time to work through her confusion at his abrupt departure before the face of Mother Giselle came into view.

"Are you alright, child?" The kind Orlesian Mother asked.

"Herald?" Cassandra's relieved voice also joined in. Apparently Solas spread the news that she was awake, for the Seeker was accompanied by the three advisors.

She spent the next half hour in a daze as they explained the situation, apparently woozy from a pain drought that Solas had given her. He had tended to her himself with Giselle, for the Inquisition's healers were both exhausted and spent from tending to Haven's wounded. She was gladdened that he had cared enough to tend to her, noting that her ribs had been bound and her head bandaged, but was still confused by his sudden and hasty departure.

She found it difficult to concentrate as they spoke to her, and as the four leaders began to heatedly argue with one another, Mother Giselle had managed to firmly shoo them off, allowing Arya some much needed quiet to rest. She changed the bandage on Arya's head before crawling into an adjacent cot, asking Arya to awaken her if she needed anything.

Even with her thoughts buzzing with the recent developments, she was unable to fight her exhaustion as sleep claimed her.

* * *

><p>Dawn found Arya nestled in the crook of a large tree overlooking the Frostbacks, wrapped in a large furry coat. She gazed numbly at the glorious rays of yellow and pink light of the sun as it began to crest over the snowcapped mountains. Had she been in her normal state of mind, she'd be awed by the sight. But not now.<p>

She had managed to keep herself composed and gracious even as the people of Haven knelt before her, gooseflesh erupting across her body as they sang their hope to her, for her, _because of_ her. She even kept her cool while accepting the congratulations and handshakes and the hugs of crying people, both men and women alike. Thankfully Cassandra had saved her, feigning that the "Herald needed rest" before guiding her back to her tent.

Arya had grabbed a coat and run out the back even before the tent flap had closed.

Her ribs screamed at her and her knee hurt, and she cursed herself for her flight. Luckily she had come across a large pine, and she climbed it eagerly, wishing her mad dash wasn't so easy to follow by the tracks left in the snow.

She took deep breaths, attempting to calm her racing heart as fear flooded her. It was too real…this couldn't be happening.

"Herald of Andraste" was a cute title and she allowed it to give those that followed her hope that she could close the Breach since she was "Divine"…but to see their hope manifested in such a real and intimate way…

It scared her.

She didn't like it at all.

She didn't want that responsibility. Couldn't have that responsibility. Didn't deserve that responsibility.

And yet….

Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard the footfalls of a person who was used to moving silently. She looked down to see Solas approach, surprised as anger fill her heart when she saw him.

Anger at his games, at his push and pull with her. Only her preoccupation with her people's hymn distracted her from her distraught at Solas's rejection of her after discovering that he truly did care for her. Her frustration with it all manifested in full force and she scowled.

"Arya?" he called up to her, his voice concerned.

"Solas." She responded tersely, not even caring if she was rude. He didn't even have the decency to flinch, his calm exterior driving her anger higher. How could he be so damn calm when she felt herself falling apart, overwhelmed with the events of the past day.

"May I have a word?" he asked. She considered.

"Do we have to go somewhere?"

"Not if you do not wish to do so." He replied.

"I do not." She was being petty and she knew it, but his earlier rejection of her hurt all the more by its contrast with the reverence of Haven's people. Reverence she did not want. So she wanted him to make the effort to come to her.

She was surprised at the ease in which he climbed the tree, settling comfortably on an adjacent branch, wrapped in a warm fur coat. They sat and watched the sun rise together, not speaking.

"Are you alright?" He asked eventually, his voice kind. She felt her heart soften against her will.

"It's…unnerving." She answered earnestly, her want to speak about this most recent development honestly with someone who might understand outweighing her current anger.

"The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting. Her faith is hard won, lethallin, and worthy of pride." He responded in a voice she was unable to place. Was it sincere pride in her?

Her anger continued to simmer under her skin throughout their entire conversation in which he explained about the orb that Corypheus wielded. She paid enough attention to be able to respond intelligently, but she knew that he could sense her anger and her reason for it in the way his eyes betrayed a hurt at her uncharacteristic terseness.

But he kept his tone academic, distant, and she refused to bring up the subject of his want of her. Her own pride refused to give into it, although her anger and hurt remained strong. She recognized that if he truly did not care, he would not have sought her out – he would've waited until she returned to their makeshift camp to talk with her.

She eventually convinced herself that it would be futile to remain angry with him, and found herself genuinely curious in the solution that he offered the Inquisition…a place to which they could travel? Why had he not mentioned such a thing before? She had no interest in continuing the conversation along that line, however.

They remained silent after she agreed to his plan, but their eyes spoke volumes in a wordless conversation as she glared at him, wanting justification for his actions.

Eventually, his brows furrowed slightly in his guilt, and she accepted this as the only apology she'd ever get, realizing that no explanation was forthcoming.

As they climbed down the tree and walked back to camp, she noticed the great care he used to avoid touching her, walking a polite distance from her, almost distracted. She sighed and extended to her to the back flap of her tent, hoping she could grab a few hours' sleep before the Inquisition demanded anything more of her.

Just as she was about to enter, Solas surprised her by grabbing her arm, stopping her.

She looked at him, eyebrows raised, surprised at how uneasy he looked.

"Arya…I…" he rubbed the back of his neck, uncertain. She waited.

"I am...glad that you have returned to us." He said lamely to the snow beneath their bare feet, but she grinned at his attempt in spite of herself.

"So am I." She looked down, as well, embarrassed. "I...wouldn't have been able to without your help." Before he could respond, she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, trying to pour her feelings into the gesture. He stiffened instantly, as she suspected he would. She waited, hoping…hoping she hadn't made a huge mistake.

To her joy, he slowly returned her gesture, tentatively wrapping his arms around her. When she didn't release him, he brought her closer to him, and she felt him press his face into the furs that covered the nape of her neck. He felt good against her, and she felt safe again.

"Ma serannas, hahren." She whispered, and his grip around her tightened at her use of the honorific and she was lifted slightly off of the ground. They stayed that way for many moments, Arya allowing herself to rejoice at the success of her gamble. They then heard the stirring of Mother Giselle in her tent as she awoke and Solas put her down hurriedly.

Their eyes met briefly before she retreated into her tent to greet the Chantry Mother, a large smile on her face.

* * *

><p>I originally had a sad ending, but I have enough soul crushing moments every day in school without creating them in my "free time."<p> 


	8. Anniversary

I borrowed the premise and some paragraphs for this chapter from my other fic, Chase, because I loved it so much and wanted to expand upon it. So for those who read that one and liked it, I hope you enjoy this less generic and much expanded version.

Laughter, smuts, and feels contained within!

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Anniversary<p>

"Varric, where are we going?" Arya asked, exasperated, though amused at her friend's demeanor. He had been reticent these past few months since Hawke's death, and this was the first time she had seen him truly excited since. It was the main reason that she agreed to go with him.

"You'll see." He replied. She threw up her hands in her annoyance and he chuckled as they walked down the keep's front steps. Skyhold buzzed with activity, and she earned many enthusiastic waves from people who were bustling about carrying various things.

"What are people so excited about?" Arya asked, confused. "I am pleased, but…" she stopped at the foot of the steps, as Varric was making a beeline for the tavern. Three large casks stood prepped in the courtyard by the tavern's entrance.

"Varric…" she said warningly.

"Just come on." Her eyes narrowed. She had hoped for a quiet evening, but that didn't seem to be Varric's plan. She appealed to Solas for help, but he just smirked at her, standing cross armed on the steps behind her, hip cocked. He waved a hand at her to continue and she glared, but turned and followed Varric, sighing heavily.

As they neared the tavern, the humdrum of many voices became audible and Arya felt her pulse quicken at her nerves.

"Hey everyone, look who I found!" Varric shouted when he crossed the threshold, having the foresight to grab Arya so that she didn't bolt.

"Surprise!" The tavern roared as she was dragged in and even though she suspected something of this nature, she jumped from the sheer volume of the collective cheer.

"I will get you for this, you furry little miscreant." She grumbled to Varric. Josephine approached her, laughing slightly as she glided elegantly next to her side.

"Oh, it wasn't his fault, Your Worship. He was just doing me a favor." Josephine's smooth, amused voice answered, slightly raised to be heard over the din. Varric bowed mockingly to her, winked at Arya, and was lost in the crowd.

"As I am sure you are aware, Inquisitor," she continued, "your triumph of slaying the first dragon since the Hero of Fereldan has spread through the Inquisition like wildfire, and our dwarf friend," she gestured in the direction he disappeared, "convinced me now would be a good time for a celebration, since we have had little to celebrate since Adamant."

"So this _is_ his fault." Arya remarked. Josephine smiled and shook her head.

"I had something in the works anyway, since next week will mark six months since your acceptance as Inquisitor!" Her last few words were ringing in a rallying shout, and the tavern roared its approval. Arya laughed in spite of herself.

"Oh, so they have wine I take it?" Arya teased Josephine's cry, which was uncharacteristic of the non-tipsy Antivan. She blushed prettily and shrugged.

"Yes….from Antiva. It is the best." She conceded.

"Alright…but I won't stay for too long…I want a quiet evening." Josephine smiled, but made no comment.

She was swept up in the crowd, enduring handshakes, cheers, congratulations, hugs. She merely rode the waves of emotion as she usually did, grateful that time and practice had made the ritual easier. Plus, there was the added fun of her patrons and friends existing in varying stages of drunkenness, and she had her bottom playfully smacked by a tipsy, cackling Sera, who scampered off before she could be scolded. Arya's face flared red, mortified when the onlookers first gasped and then laughed.

"Make way, make way you sorry sots!" Iron Bull was shoving himself through the crowd. "It's _my_ turn! I claim the Inquisitor's first drinks!" As he stood in front of her, he beamed and reached down to engulf her in a bear hug, his massive arms wrapping around her, pinning her arms to her side as he lifted her feet clear of the ground. She squeaked pitifully as he crushed the air out of her lungs, and would swear that she heard her back pop at least seven times.

As Iron Bull carried her over to the bar in this manner, she noted that Solas had not followed her into the tavern, but she was not surprised: Solas was very much like a cat in regards to his aversion to noise and boisterousness. He probably slunk away after he shooed her to go with Varric.

She cast her magic out in search of him, having to widen her search when she did not sense him on the bottom floor. As she looked to the higher floors, she felt his brief acknowledgement as her mind brushed his – he was on the third floor. She sent him a brief irritation, to which she felt him smirk. She sighed in defeat, smiling when he returned the affection she sent him.

As Iron Bull plopped her down onto a barstool, she stole a glance upwards. He was next to Cole, leaning against the railing as he watched the celebration below. With a small smile, he nodded to her and held up a goblet to toast her in a wordless "cheers." She grinned at him, amused that he was drinking. Cole was even smiling as he sat on the railing, feet dangling precariously over the edge.

"Come, have a drink!" He offered her a small glass and raised it in a toast. "To killing a High Dragon like warriors of legend!" He shouted the phrase into the tavern and everyone cheered and stopped what they were doing to take a collective drink.

"What…exactly am I supposed to be drinking?" She sniffed it, unsure. It made the hairs in her nose quiver and recoil and she made a face. Iron Bull laughed.

"Malas-lok! Now, this isn't some prissy wine you sip. When you drink it, tilt your head back and drain it in one quick, manly go."

"What does 'malas-lok' mean?" She asked apprehensively as she eyed her glass, unsure about an alcoholic beverage that required directions to imbibe.

"It means drink!" Arya laughed and shrugged, then clinked her glass against his, tilting her head back as she drained her tiny cup.

Instantly she coughed and spluttered, feeling her eyes water as she put the empty glass back on the bar, covering her mouth in attempt to quell her coughing. The fellow men at the bar who had been watching roared with laughter, and the man next to her slapped her on the back encouragingly.

"I know, right? Puts some chest on your chest!" Iron Bull thundered.

Arya spluttered a laugh as she felt warmth rush to her head and her sinuses cleared instantly. She couldn't help laugh as she listened to him he gush about their fight with the dragon, his face animated and eyes distant and admiring. She had never seen him so excited.

"Wait…that Qunari phrase, you shouted it during the fight, too – what does it mean?" Iron Bull laughed as he refilled her glass.

"I will bring myself sexual pleasure later, while thinking about this with great respect!"

She felt her mouth fall open as heat rushed to her face. "You shouted t_hat_ while it was breathing fire at us?!" she said, unsure whether to be amused or incredulous. He held up his glass again and Arya looked unsure, but was enjoying Iron Bull's happiness too much to deny him. He had precious little to be happy about since he lost the Chargers for her.

Besides…it _was_ important to try new things.

She still coughed and spluttered after the second shot, but her eyes didn't water and her sinuses were already cleared.

"Yeah, the second cup's easier. Most of the nerves in your throat are dead after the first one."

"No kidding!" she coughed and pounded her chest with her fist in attempt to calm her body.

She sat back in her stool, receptive as she listened to Iron Bull's slurred gushing of dragons, enjoying the feel of the drink and Iron Bull's enthusiastic vibe.

Sera appeared so suddenly from behind the bar counter that Arya almost fell back in her barstool, but managed to catch herself with help from a laughing Iron Bull.

"What's that drink there?" she picked up Arya's glass and sniffed it. "Wooooooo, what in pissbuckets is that? Some Qunari thingy? I wanna try! Gimme!" She held out the glass and Iron Bull laughed drunkenly as he poured her glass full.

Sera sniffed it. "Ohhhh, yea. This is gonna be good." She held up the glass to Arya. "Your glorious ladybits" she toasted, then drained the glass, slamming it down on the table after a slight shake of her head.

"Mmmph, mmmmmmmm...no wonder your women are so…woof." She licked her lips suggestively and Iron Bull chuckled. "Drinking strong shite like that. AWWWOOOOOO!" Sera howled, startling several people at the bar, who just stared at her.

Arya hid her face in her hands, stifling a laugh.

Her attention was drawn to the minstrels as the tavern erupted with shouts of joy and the scuffling on many feet as they struck up a loud, boisterous tune. She turned in her barstool and watched her people, enjoying how they scrambled to find a partner and gathered in pairs in the center of the room.

Sera nimbly hopped over the counter and landed in the recently vacated stool next to Arya, tucking her feet underneath her as she crossed her legs, knees bouncing excitedly. Arya grinned at her ragamuffin of a friend, feeling at ease with the world and happy with Iron Bull's cheeriness. Her cheeks felt warm and her limbs light, and she sighed happily as she looked at Sera expectantly.

"Come on there, ladybits, let's get jiggy with it!" She cackled, smirking.

"Let's…what?" Her brain was foggy from the Qunari drink, which was apparently much more potent that the wine to which Josephine had introduced her. She couldn't stop grinning, feeling happy and loose.

"Dance, numbskull. You _do _know how to dance, right?" Sera asked, slightly baffled.

"No…" She said, doubtful and eyeing her scheming friend warily.

"Awww, come on. You fight wicked bad beasties bent on murder and mayhem and are afraid of dancing? Psshhh." She blew a raspberry and Arya laughed.

"I know _how_ to fight. I don't know how to dance. I'll look stupid, especially after whatever Iron Bull gave me." She replied, elbowing her friend's massive arm. Iron Bull chuckled.

"And all these people know how to fight, yea? These bakers and farmers come to fight the magic hole in the sky with pitchforks and rolling pins? It'll be good for them to see you trying something new. You ask it of them."

Arya hesitated, considering. She just hated feeling foolish in public.

"Awww, come on! It's good for you!" Before she could protest, the rogue had grabbed her roughly by the hand and dragged her off of the barstool. Arya barely managed to get her feet underneath her in time as the blonde elf pulled her to the crowd of people. She started to fight until she noticed the huge cheer of the crowd as they rushed to join. She was swept up in their joy and smiled in spite of herself.

She grinned as she felt Solas's amused approval as he brushed her mind, meekly complying as much as possible with Sera brusquely arranged her hands into a dancing position. Her limbs felt awkward and in all the wrong places.

"Now, ladybits, keep your twinkly fingers above my waist or your little elfy man might get jealous!" Sera warned before giggling outrageously. Arya was about to give a tart reply, remembering her previous spank, but Sera has whisked her in a circle as the dance began.

Though she had never felt more foolish and inadequate in her whole life, dancing was thoroughly enjoyable, even if Sera teased her each time she stepped on her toes, which was frequently. She _was_ having fun, however, and her fellow dancers seemed to enjoy her trying, laughing good naturedly when she turned the wrong way or missed a step. By the end of the dance, she was out of breath and laughing, but managed to get the rhythm of the last few musical refrains.

When the number finished, the tavern erupted in applause and Arya gave a flamboyant bow, earning the crowd's laughter as she rose, grinning.

"See? Told you." Sera grinned cheekily before grabbing a serving girl as the next dance began. Arya tried to sneak away to the periphery, but found herself pulled into Dorian's arms. He waggled his eyebrows at her and she groaned.

"Noooo, I feel the fool. Please don't make me." She complained as he began to lead her. "And how do _you_ know this dance?" she added.

"Oh, it's not nearly so difficult as you make it appear." He winked at her and she laughed.

She began to be passed around from one partner to the next, dancing with soldiers, scouts, blacksmiths, and friends alike. She was sweating by the end of the fifth dance. Iron Bull spun her a little too hard and she almost crashed into a table where Dorian and Varric were playing Wicked Grace. Dorian managed to catch her before she collided unceremoniously with the table.

"I told you you'd fall for me eventually, my dear." he teased theatrically, and the tavern roared with laughter. Arya, slightly dizzy from the combination of drink and lack of oxygen, tipped her hand in a mock bow to her audience, which caused another round of laughter.

"You up for another one, pretty thing?" Dorian asked, still holding her up.

"Gods, no. I want to sit down." She replied with a laugh. "And another drink….Josie, what was that you said about Antivan wine?"

* * *

><p>Solas had been irritated that Varric had stolen Arya from him, particularly for a tavern party, for they had only been in Skyhold a few hours and Arya had spent most of that time with Elsa, one of the elven adolescents they had rescued from the dilapidated temple near Val Chevin. Elsa had come to Skyhold with them, presumably to be near Arya, and the fiery teenager's demeanor had quelled noticeably since her rescue – she became withdrawn, quiet, and clingy with Arya, her frightened eyes wide and forever searching. She seemed almost afraid that if she questioned her good fortune, it might all disappear.<p>

Arya had astutely given her charge to Mother Giselle, who lived in a room off of the Keep's garden. The gentle and kind Mother had worked wonders on the girl, but she was still afraid to leave the peaceful sanctuary of the garden, where people spoke only in hushed whispers as to not disturb others' meditations and prayers. As such, Arya went to visit her immediately after she had bathed and seen the keep's chief healer.

Keeping his mask up, he had grumpily followed the pair from his pagoda, curious as to what Varric was so excited about. His attitude changed slightly when he saw the three large casks of wine by the tavern's entrance. He knew where this was leading and halted, still encouraging Arya forward. His presence would not be needed.

As the patrons became distracted by their Inquisitor's arrival, Solas stole his way to the casks, politely asking a guard for a goblet of wine from a barrel he recognized as Antivan from the crest over its spigot – he hadn't had a good wine in a very long time, though he expected he would within the week when they traveled to the Winter Palace. The guard looked surprised, but grinned as he handed the full goblet to the elf, who nodded his thanks and sneaked his way up to the ramparts.

A large, fluffy tabby cat was perched on the stone parapet by the entrance to the tower adjacent to the tavern. She sat with her paws tucked underneath her breast, watching the commotion in the courtyard below with disdain, tail twitching in her irritation. He smiled when he saw her, for she had been absent since their return and he was concerned for her.

She turned to watch him approach and blinked her eyes lazily. He extended his hand and scratched her ears, and she rubbed her head against his hand.

"I would not care for such commotion, either, friend." He told her as he rubbed the bridge of her nose before opening the door to the tower. She chirped as she jumped down, bottlebrush tail erect as she scampered through the door in front of him so that he almost tripped over her. The process was repeated with the door to the tavern.

As Solas expected, the third floor was empty, for which he was glad. Cole was sitting on the railing, watching the people in the tavern below as he rocked back and forth. The cat jumped up and sat beside him, rubbing her face against his hand affectionately. He looked down at her and petted her carefully, and she sat back and regarded him with her large yellow eyes. Cole looked at her seriously.

"Yes…I know." He told her. Seemingly satisfied, she jumped down and disappeared from sight.

"Greetings, Cole." Solas said as he approached, amused by the transaction. He sipped his wine and sighed with pleasure – it was dry, crisp, and left a tingle on the tongue. He took a longer draught and shivered, contented. It was excellent wine.

"Hello." Cole said simply in his dreamy voice, and Solas was pleased to hear the joy in it. "I like her. She is wise."

Solas chuckled, "It is odd to see a cat so at ease with a spirit, for most are even easily spooked by people. I often wonder from where she comes." He leaned next to Cole on the railing.

"Somewhere old." Cole replied. Solas nodded, contemplating.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" He eventually asked, and Cole nodded, hat flopping from the motion.

"I like it here. Many who come here are sad, somber, seeking solace from something, soothing the self with spirits and songs, but people are happy now."

"Yes, I imagine this night, your mind shall be quieted." He sipped his wine again and looked over the railing to the ground floor.

He watched as Arya made her rounds in the crowd, smirking as he saw Sera smack her bum before running away. Arya's baffled outrage was quickly masked by a broad smile as Iron Bull swam his way through the people to her and picked her up, carrying her towards the bar.

He smiled as he felt the wisp of her wanting magic search the tavern in search of him, and he waited for her to find him. He almost laughed at her displeasure, for they had both would have preferred a quiet evening to be alone together. When she expressed her love a second later, he was reminded of her fluffy cat in how she rubbed her head against his hand affectionately. He responded in kind and was rewarded with her joy before she withdrew the touch.

He watched her, happy when she looked up to see him. His mind starting to buzz pleasantly, he raised his glass to salute her and she grinned hugely before returning her attention to Iron Bull, accepting a proffered cup. He reveled in the now familiar warm tug on his heart her smile elicited.

Normally he would have filled his goblet and left the noise and bustle of the tavern, but his curiosity with Arya stayed his retreat, as it usually did. He found himself drawn to her, enjoying the thrill of observing her in addition to their private conversation as their consciousness brushed the other's.

Truth be told, he was enjoying himself immensely: he spent his life wandering the Fade seeking wisdom, watching the interactions of those who were long dead in countless cultures time had forgotten, yet it had been a long time since he had taken time to watch those who yet live. And with this observation of the present, he got to watch _her_.

She was a delight, and he laughed at her attempts to dance with Sera, knowing that her being there was most likely at the rogue's persistence. While crass and selfish, Sera did have some interesting points about inspiring the "little folks," lending much insight into her motivations as a Red Jenny. While Arya often voiced her frustration with her comrade to him, she also expressed her relief that they had finally reached an understanding.

As such, he conceded his pride of her that she was attempting such a thing as dancing – he knew she must be incredibly uncomfortable, for her obvious competence did not extend to quick and rowdy steps. She was a magnificent creature, sure – graceful and surefooted as she scaled trees and climbed, but she had not yet been taught the steps of the rowdy dance, and he was sure her foggy brain was not her ally in this matter.

She owned it well, however, gracious with the teasing, laughing, mocking herself, and as always, he was impressed with how well she did to endear herself to her people and win their loyalty. They would love her even if she weren't the Herald of Andraste.

"You don't mind that they touch her?" Cole asked.

Solas shook his head, unconcerned.

"Their touches are superficial, more to reassure themselves of her tangibility than any want of her. They are aware that she is mine."

Even as he said this, he watched as Iron Bull spun her roughly and Dorian catching her before she crashed into the table in which he, Josephine, Blackwall, Cullen, and Varric sat playing Wicked Grace. As she had for the duration of her dances, she owned her deficiency well, laughing at herself and gave another mocking bow, much to the taverngoers' delight.

While he knew his jealousy was unfounded, he was still mildly irked when Dorian settled her on his lap. This was not an unfamiliar feeling where the Tevinter was concerned, for she often expressed physical affection to the man. While annoyed, he didn't feel threatened, for the man was merely affectionate, doting on her with innocuous touches that were merely manifestations of his flamboyant nature.

Josephine leaned over to her and whispered something, and both of the women giggled. Arya's mind brushed his again and he wasn't able to hide his slight annoyance from her, to which he felt her amusement and mild scolding. He was reassured as her magical tendrils ghosted across his face to run along the length of his ears playfully, teasing him. He suppressed a groan and relaxed, satisfied as she withdrew her touch.

He watched the party continue, growing wary as more and more people came to dance at the tavern's floor. The noise was starting to become offensive, and he was debating about retreating to his pagoda when the minstrels finally took a break to go drink. In the sudden absence of dancing boots and music, all eyes turned to a roar of triumph. He looked to a corner to find a large crowd of people surrounding a table where Iron Bull stood with his arms raised in victory. He watched, curious, as a man approached the center of the circle, and both he and Iron Bull sat down across from each other and began to arm wrestle. Iron Bull beat him easily, slamming the man's arm against the table and roared a challenge to the crowd.

"I am the mighty dragon hunter! No one can match my might!"

Dorian left the game of Wicked Grace and approached the crowd, puffing up his chest as he strutted.

"Enough of this flim-flammery." The mage drawled, "Let me show you how a real man does it." There were conspiratorial "oohhhhs!" as the crowd watched with interest.

"Come, on 'Vint! Put your money where your mouth is!" Iron Bull roared loudly in challenge, beating his chest with both fists enthusiastically for emphasis. Dorian laughed and contemplated, stroking his goatee with a forefinger and thumb as he gave it a thought.

"I will take that bet my good man, um….sir." He took a moment give Iron Bull a once over and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

The whole tavern crowded around the pair, so Solas was unable to see the match, but appreciated both the duration of the match and the crowd's drunken reactions to it.

Eventually, there was a thud and Iron Bull stood with a roar, arm raised above his head. And the tavern cheered.

"The Iron Bull is the _man_, YEAH!" Iron Bull said, pumping a fist into the air.

"Petty arm games." Dorian dismissed with a sniff. "We should take this outside and I will show you a thing or two."

"What, a fight? You think you can beat me in a _fight_?" Iron Bull's slurred words were incredulous as he posed.

"Oh yes, I'll even do it with my magic tied behind my back." Dorian replied.

Iron Bull grabbed a cup on the table and drained it in one go, wiping his mouth on his arm.

"You're on, Vint! Better take off that shirt there, little buddy – I wouldn't want to mess up your pretty dress."

"It's a _robe_, thank you very much. Remember...mage?" he pointed to himself. "And no shirts? How delightfully uncivilized." Dorian ripped off his shirt and struck a pose, squeezing his pectoralis muscles one by one. Many of the women in the audience "ooooooed" appreciatively.

"Sorry, ladies, this package isn't for you." Dorian called, and there were giggles mixed into the collective sounds of disappointment.

"Shut up and let's do this, pretty boy!" The crowd followed the two men out into the courtyard.

Solas looked over to Arya, having to laugh at how she hid her face in her hands to hide her embarrassment as Josephine and Varric openly laughed. Cullen also looked embarrassed, to which Solas smirked.

Having had enough for the evening, he bid Cole a good night and made for the door to the ramparts.

As Solas ascended the wooden stairs, the cat materialized and waited at the door leading to the tower. He smirked and opened the door for her. As he stepped into the cool night air, the full force of the Inquisition's celebration became evident as cries and cheers were carried up to him on the wind. He looked out across the frozen river at the main camp at the numerous fires, still awed at the forces the Inquisition had mustered in such a short time, even if most were merely militia. They were a force to be reckoned with, and were downright dangerous…he was glad he trusted their leader.

A more proximal surge of cheers came from the keep's courtyard, where the crowd had gathered around a pair of people in the proposed wrestling match – Dorian and Iron Bull.

He shook his head as he smiled, but was unable to see the squabble. He decided to return to his pagoda and enjoy the rest of the evening quietly. Maybe read his new book. He snuck down to the casks, refilled his drink, and made his way up the main steps to the Great Hall.

As he entered the pagoda, he sighed in relief as silence engulfed the tower as the door closed behind him. The cat ran to her armchair and hopped up to sleep. A raven squawked and he scowled as he looked up. Well, it'd be a mostly silent evening.

He crossed to his couch and grabbed the book from the nightstand, one Leliana had procured at his request. It was one of the tales of the Hero of Fereldan, the author a stuffy scholar in Denerim. He had yet to read this account, for the prose was pompous and rather dry, but it provided an interesting perspective of Ilyara and he reasoned that reading about her conquering of "Andraste Reborn" at the Temple of Sacred Ashes would be particularly appropriate this evening.

Time was lost as he devoured the pages, sipping the rest of his wine, which made the book much less of a chore to read.

He became aware of the dryness in his mouth and realized he had not been hydrating himself adequately this evening to compensate for the wine that he was drinking. He stood and stretched, making for the water pitcher on his desk.

As he picked it up, he scowled – it was empty, and he'd have to cross the Great Hall to sneak to the kitchens. He entered the Great Hall, realizing it must be later than he thought - there were only a few groups of people at the banquet tables laughing and drinking, their speech slurred from drink and tiredness. He ignored them as he walked by, assured they would remember nothing of his rudeness the following morning.

As he opened the door off of the Great Hall that led downstairs to the kitchen, he stopped as he heard a noise, foot hovering over a stone step. There were voices coming from Josephine's office, which was strange – Josephine would not be entertaining this late in the evening, and he was sure she'd still be playing cards at the tavern, never wanting to miss a chance to show her talent. Besides, it was late enough that she would be in her bedroom, not it her office.

Frowning, he paused and listened at the doorway, letting his awareness expand.

There was a quiet murmur of male voices, but Solas was unable to make out any of the words, for even the minute noise from the Great Hall drowned out the whispered words.

He heard a scuffle followed by a crash of a metal pot falling to the stone floor.

"Blast it!" a man swore.

Solas was torn, not wanting to disturb Josephine's privacy and enter her space without permission, but the voices belonged to those who obviously did not wish to be discovered. His wine-addled brain did nothing to aid his judgment.

Solas threw open the door, hoping to surprise the intruders. But it was not burglars that he found…

Iron Bull had Dorian pinned against the wall of her office, the Qunari's large hands held the Tevinter's up against the wall as they kissed, their bodies flushed to each other, both of their shirts still removed, their chests and clothes covered in the mud. They looked up in surprise when Solas walked in, but didn't spring apart.

Solas's felt his eyebrows rise and his mouth fall slightly open in his shock as heat rose in his face. His wine buzz combined with his complete and utter surprise made words fall from his grasp as his brain tried to catch up with the images his eyes were seeing.

They stood there staring at each other for a while, none of them knowing quite what to say. Iron Bull recovered first, letting his one of his arms fall from Dorian's wrist as he opened his stance, leaning lazily against the wall so that Solas could have a full view of his naked chest. The Qunari's shoulders were back and confident, and he extended his hand outward as if to say, "well?"

"So….you gonna join in or just stand there like an imbecile?" Iron Bull said humorously, and Dorian laughed outright as one of his hands smoothed his mussed hair.

"I…uhh…" Solas stopped and swallowed, trying to regain his dignity. "I apologize for the intrusion." Solas spoke, nodding his head politely as he retreated, closing the door to their laughter.

He suddenly found himself back in his room – he must've walked there his daze. He shook himself again, wondering why they picked Josephine's room – Iron Bull's was in the dungeon and not that far away.

He decided that he didn't want to know.

He looked at his hand and glowered at the still empty pitcher – he had forgot to go fill it in the kitchen. When he returned, he filled his glass and set it next to his goblet of wine, and resumed reading his book.

He had only read a few pages when Arya searched for him and he replied, amused at the fogginess of her mental touch.

A few minutes later, he was startled by a loud _BLAM_ of a door smacking the wall as it was flung open. He watched as Arya wobbled into the room sheepishly, her head bowed in amused shame for having caused such a loud noise. She had to clutch the ladder of his platform to steady herself, giggling all the while.

He chuckled at her inebriation, and decided to feign disinterest of her to see what she would do. So he didn't greet her as she swayed against the ladder, but his eyes watched her over the top of the pages.

When she was satisfied she was steady, she looked up for the first time and surveyed the room, grinning broadly as she caught sight of him, even thought he was pretending to ignore her. He felt that tug on his heart and smiled in spite of himself, but wiped the smile from his face and resumed ignoring her.

She looked back to the ladder, her anchor from the drink, then back to him, unsure. She hesitated only slightly before she released the ladder, but managed to wobble to his desk successfully. The fluffy cat jumped onto the desk with a mew, greeting her.

"Heeeeyyy, kitty!" her happy words were slurred as she grabbed the fluffy creature and hugged it to her chest, rubbing her face into the fur. Had she been anyone else, even Solas, the cat would've savaged her for such an act. But the cat cuddled against her and purred, a reaction that always amazed him. No other person in Skyhold could do such a thing.

Arya stood against the desk, swaying as she cuddled the cat for a while before dumping her unceremoniously onto the floor. She landed on four feet gracefully and sauntered back over to the armchair in Solas's room, where she hopped up and resumed covering the object with brown fur.

Arya grinned as she watched her, then hurriedly approached Solas. She stood in front of him, hands behind her back, acting for all the world like shy little girl. He did not look at her, but turned a page of his book absently, lazily. Uncaring.

Unsatisfied with his assumed indifference, she wriggled up into the circle of his arms, her rich red hair and pointed ears displacing his book from sight as she snuggled against his chest. He chuckled, placing his book on the stand next to the couch, careful not to disturb the glasses of liquid. The feeling of her warm, soft body pressed against him was magical, and he surrendered to her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. She sighed happily, content with her victory for his attention. He grinned and buried his face in her hair, inhaling her vanilla scent.

"Had a little too much, Inquisitor?" He asked innocently, and he felt her grin against his chest.

"Nahhh….it was just the right amount." She hiccupped and snuggled closer, nosing his neck affectionately. "The only thing better than this feeling is the one I get from touching _you_, mister man….hic…elf" she giggled outrageously as her arms wrapped themselves around his neck, maximizing their interface with each other. He kissed her cheek sweetly, immensely enjoying her giggle of delight at the action.

She had positively melted against him, more relaxed than he remembered her being, and he recognized this was a night to celebrate her hard won victories. It had been months since she had a chance to allow herself to relax completely, and he wanted her to have a good time. He was glad that he had drank just enough to loosen his inhibitions and still his reticence in giving her affection, for he knew her respect for him and his personal space stayed much of her own affections. Another reason he didn't mind her relationship with Dorian.

"So I ran into Iron Bull and Dorian." Solas told her casually, grinning.

"I know! I never knew Dorian was so strong! I'm surprised he almost beat Bull." she said excitedly.

"Oh, I meant I saw them after that."

"Oh?"

"Oh, yes…they were wrestling, alright." She pulled back and looked at him in confusion, then her eyes widened.

"No!" She said, almost accusing, her hands covering her mouth as her eyes brightened.

He smirked. "True, I am no expert, but imagine the way Iron Bull had Dorian pinned against the wall with his mouth indicates that they were doing more than merely a training exercise."

Arya clapped her hands together excitedly before covering her mouth again.

"I would never have guessed." She giggled. "Good for them." She clapped her hands together excitedly again before enthusiastically snuggling back against him. He grinned and rearranged his arms around her. She sighed happily, nuzzling the fabric of his shirt.

"I am glad that you had a good time, emm'asha." He said sincerely, pulling her close to him.

"I was half expecting you to disapprove." She said, relieved.

"How could I ever disapprove of such magnificent dancing?" she groaned and lazily punched his arm.

"Sera had to _drag_ me onto the dance floor – I felt so silly and out of place." She sat upright and looked at him, her eyes wide. "She smacked my _bottom_! In front of _everyone._" she said in a shocked whisper. Solas laughed outright, for her horror at the notion was more than adorable, since her innocence with _him_ disappeared a while ago.

"Yes, well, it is a nice bottom." He squeezed her bum in emphasis, and her face reddened and she giggled before seeking shelter in his chest again, burying her forehead into his neck as her arms wrapped around her neck. He pulled her close to him, basking in her scent.

"It was brave of you, vhenan, and it was a good thing to do for your men. Morale is more important than any amount of training." He arranged her in his lap and pulled her closer, "Besides, we have nowhere to be until we leave for Orlais. Might as well enjoy the respite while we can."

She nodded into his chest. She inhaled deeply, then spoke quietly, hushed. "You smell like…safe. Like outside and man. And parchment." She giggled and his heart warmed at her words. "But no campfire, needs more campfire." He grinned. Yes, fire was a good smell.

Her hand fell from his neck and sought his chest, fingers digging into the fabric suggestively as she nestled closer to him. The air around them began to grow warm and he felt himself becoming aroused by her touch and insinuation. He shifted her slightly in his lap to relieve the pressure.

"Well…" he murmured into her ear, kissing the lobe gently. "What brings you here in your drunken stupor, vhenan?" he teased. "Were you hoping I can help you wobble up the stairs?" He smirked before nuzzling the ridge of her pointed ear with the tip of his nose, remembering her previous totter over to him on the couch.

She laughed raucously and her grip around his neck tightened. "That's exactly what I was hoping," she whispered in a seductive, primal voice, causing him to shudder in anticipation as gooseflesh raced down his body. She straightened in his lap and shifted her legs so that she was straddling him on the couch, her magnificent green eyes sparkling wickedly.

He felt blood rush to his groin as she pressed her hips into his suggestively, her eyes locked with his as she ground against him. He groaned as she gently bit the soft flesh under his jaw, and wrapped his arms around her behind, pulling her hips against his now hard member. Utilizing the drink's gift of boldness, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him urgently, probing his mouth with her tongue and he groaned again as he clung to her, bringing her closer. While she had grown comfortable with their intimacy over the past month couple of months, she had never asserted herself on him this way. Her gusto aroused him greatly.

She pulled back suddenly, grinning mischievously. She stood, well…fell backwards and his hands shot out to steady her. She clung to him, laughing, and took his hand. She stopped suddenly and glared at something next to his head, eyes widened.

He turned his head then laughed out loud - the cat sat on the nightstand adjacent to his head, watching her, looking almost smug.

"Were you _watching_?" she asked it, eyes both reproachful and horrified.

She twitched her tail unconcernedly then stretched her paws out in front of her, yawning widely. She rubbed her head against Solas's ear before hopping to the floor and retreating from sight. They both watched her go.

"How rude." Arya bristled.

Solas chuckled as he stood, wrapping her in his arms and kissing the top of her head. She looked up at him and grinned, standing on her toes to kiss him sweetly. Before her lips met his, he bent her backwards in his arms, pulling her waist close to him as he dipped her back toward the ground. He stifled her shriek of surprise with a kiss, and her tension melted away as he kissed her soundly before standing her back up.

She smiled shyly at him.

"You should drink more often." She told him cheekily, and he chuckled. "I like that. Felt like a princess for a moment." She took his hand and led him to the door into the Great Hall. He grinned with amused at the insistence of his beautiful, fierce creature that loved him so.

"Emm'asha…" he said doubtfully as she insisted, knowing that others would most likely be in the Hall and see them as they made their way to her bedchambers. She turned around and gave him a hard, long look that screamed, "Really? You're not going to take advantage of this? _Really?_" His member flexed in anticipation, and his desire won out over caution at being seen.

Mercifully, the Great Hall was empty as she almost dragged him by the hand to her chambers.

He heard an enthusiastic wolf whistle and whirled abruptly to see, to his immense horror, that Varric was at his table, feet propped up, watching them. He was smoking a pipe and grinning impishly at the two elves. A large stack of coins was on the table, the results of his tavern conquers, the columns gleaming against the flickering firelight. He must have called it a night and come to put his winnings away.

When Solas met his eyes, Varric winked raucously and blew out a large puff of smoke. Solas was infuriated to feel heat rising in his face as he flushed crimson. She just laughed and continued on, unabashed.

He _did_ have to help her wobble up the stairs, which she found absolutely hilarious. While initially annoyed that she wasn't trying harder, knowing that it was not _that_ difficult to ascend stairs while drunk, he was finding it difficult to be upset at her when she was so obviously having a good time: her face flushed with drink and laughter as she relied on his help to navigate the steps.

He also enjoyed the kisses she insisted upon every few feet. She'd kiss him, on the lips, ears, neck, or hand periodically, teasing him until he shoved her against the wall of her chambers and ground himself against her and she whimpered in pleasure as he took her neck in his mouth hungrily. He was thrilled as how responsive she was to his touch, her senses amplified by drink. She was also more vocal than usual, her whimpers of pleasure driving his arousal higher. She wrapped her legs around his waist and matched the rocking of his hips before she'd squirm free, giggling, and try to take more steps.

When they reached the main level, she gave a cry of joy and ran to the doors of the balcony and threw them open, running out to the ledge. Terrified she'd overshoot and fall over the balcony in her drunkenness, he ran after her, only to find the balcony empty. Confused, he looked back at the room to see her, knees bent as if she was about to run, her eyes beckoning, impish. She wobbled a little, drink altering her sense of balance.

Still confused, he approached her, only for her to spring away when he came within arm's reach. She ran a few feet away and assumed the same position, eyes begging him to catch her. He grinned with understanding.

Delighted by her playfulness, he sauntered casually over to her, pouncing at the last second. She squealed and barely managed to roll out of his grasp and shuffled just out of arm's reach. But he was too fast for her, pouncing again, and managed to pin her arms against the floor on the soft carpet.

He attacked her neck with his mouth, kissing it urgently as she moaned and rocked against him from below. He felt her arms relax in his grip and he freed them, allowing them to cling to his back and pull him close into a deep kiss. He crushed his mouth against hers, desire for her overwhelming him.

And then, quite suddenly, she was gone. What? _How_ had she moved that fast? She was _drunk_…she needed help navigating the _stairs_. He growled and spun around, searching for her,

Thus it was a game of chase around her chambers, Arya giggling as she fled, dodging up and around him, a wisp of a creature that laughed at him as she easily danced out of reach, stumbling only occasionally as her intoxication betrayed her. It was usually then that he caught her, growling as he pinned her to the wall or the floor and kissed her fiercely, hungrily, rubbing himself against her as she moaned with pleasure and returned his affections with gusto.

Eventually he could stand the chase no more. His mate led him on a merry game of cat-and-mouse, but he was the mighty hunter, and he would claim his prize. His female. His love. His mate.

When he caught her next, his lips found her mouth instead of her neck and he kissed her sweetly, gently. Sensing his shift in mood, she surrendered control, relaxing as she sighed in pleasure. She opened her mouth in invitation. His tongue probed into her mouth gently, causing her to tremble beneath him. When he broke away, he pulled back so that he could gaze at her face, eyes traveling over the flushed, slightly sweaty skin. He stroked her soft cheek with the back of his forefinger.

She was so beautiful, her face angular, yet there was that softness to it that belied her fiery nature. Her rich red hair was a tangle behind her on the floor, long since removed of its elaborate braiding, but it was those ever glorious green eyes that he captivated his exclusive attention. They sparkled, those eyes full of love and mischief. He grinned and rubbed the tip of his nose against her's.

"Ar lath ma, vhenan." He almost purred.

"Ar lath ma, ma'salath." He smiled softly, and captured her mouth in his.

Without removing his lips, his hands sought the hem of her shirt and removed it from her breeches with a light tug. When the shirt was free, he pulled it over her head as she leaned forward, not needing to undo the laces, as she was so tiny. As usual, she surrendered to his touch eagerly, eyes watching his face as he looked at her body.

Her chest was laid bare before him and his hands sought those small, perfect breasts that needed no breastband. He grasped a small mound in his hands, teasing the perked nipple as she sighed happily.

His fingers traced across her breast, down her exposed belly, and began to undo the laces of her breeches. His deft fingers worked quickly, and he slid his hand beneath her smallclothes to find her wet heat.

A heavy groan tore from his lips as he felt her, even more engorged and wet than the first time he had made her his. He ran his finger across her opening, teasing her with a wet finger as she moaned and clung to him, fingers mussing the fabric of his shirt, wanting more. Happy to oblige, he inserted a finger into her, stroking her gently, teasingly slow. She growled in frustration and pressed her hips up into his hand. He removed a finger and found her clitoris, rubbing the small button gently.

A sharp intake breath was followed by a cry of joy as he felt her body tense and shiver against him, mouth gaped open in pleasure as her eyes closed. He watched her moan and wriggle under his hands as he teased the tiny bundle of nerves, enjoying her noises of pleasure and her face open with unmasked bliss as she rocked slightly against his hand.

He lowered his forehead and pressed it gently to hers. She turned instantly to him, her mouth seeking his as she pulled him to her.

He wrapped his arms around her, gathering her against his chest as he sat back on his heels so that she moved up with him, her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs around his waist. He clutched her to him, kissing the hollow at the base of her throat eagerly as his hands moved down to grasp her bottom.

He easily lifted her as he stood, not even bothering to remove his mouth from the soft flesh of her throat laid bare to him. He carried her over to the bed, where he let gravity bring them to the mattress.

"You are wearing too many clothes." She groaned out. "That's not…fair." She suppressed the hiccup and almost clawed at the front of his shirt eagerly, fingers fumbling uncharacteristically with the laces. She frowned.

Amused, Solas gently removed her hands, kissing both of her palms gently before he sat back on his heels and began to undo his shirt, the laces falling away easily. Their eyes never left each other's until his shirt came free and he let it fall to the floor behind him. Her eyes went to his chest, and her hands reached out and integrated themselves into his chest hair, tugging gently as he rumbled a noise of satisfaction and closed his eyes. She grinned broadly, knowing he loved to have his chest played with.

She reminded him of her desire by arching herself into him, fingers curling in the black hair. His eyes snapped open as he was reminded of the wanting women beneath him, and he growled as her resumed his exploration of her half naked body. He pulled at her breeches, and she lifted her hips to facilitate their removal. He flung them across the room and hastily began to undo his own pants, fingers still deft despite his distraction and insistent need.

When he freed himself, she took him in her hands and he groaned as she rubbed him gently at first, then insistently. He was constantly amazed at how her skilled her tiny hands were, fumbling with laces with drink moments before, but still knowing exactly how he liked to be stroked.

He batted her hands away and prowled up her body, trailing kisses along her stomach, her sternum, her breasts, her neck, and finally her lips. He nuzzled her cheek while he slipped a practiced finger into her, ensuring she was ready for him. She was.

As he entered her, she gasped and clutched at him, one hand reaching under his arm and around his chest while the other grasped his neck, both drawing him close to her. As he moved against her, their chests flush against each other as his hips rocked against her, she spurned him faster.

He withdrew suddenly and grabbed her hips, flipping her over onto her tummy. She squawked in surprise, starting to protest as she rose onto her hands and knees, but he had already nudged her legs apart with his own and entered her again before she could get out a word.

The word on her lips morphed into a cry of surprise and pleasure at the new position, her head bowed so that her hair fell over her face and obscured her from him. His hands grasped her hips and pulled her against him with each thrust.

And so he made love to her, slowly at first so that she became accustomed to him this way, and then conceded to his body's want to speed his pace at this natural position, riding her. Taking his mate.

She turned around and looked at him, her waterfall of red curls over one shoulder oscillating with each of his thrusts. Her eyes radiated love and trust.

When he felt the pleasure begin to build, he placed a hand between her shoulderblades, encouraging her gently to the bed. She allowed him to press her torso against the soft covers, her bum still in the air, hips in his hands. She moaned at the deeper penetration, her cries building and her body tightening as she began to grind against him, encouraging her rising pleasure. He was pounding into her now, grinding his hips against her as he fought his own orgasm, unsatisfied unless she reached hers first.

He removed a hand from her hip and reached around, finding her clitoris easily. She bucked against him with a happy cry at his touch as he drove her to her climax.

He felt her orgasm, her body shuddering as it pulsed in waves. Her walls clamped around him rhythmically, and only then did he allow himself to spill into her. He clung to her, fingers tight around her hips.

He rubbed her back lovingly, fingertips ghosting over the soft flesh as he enjoyed the feel of being inside her as they remained joined, panting and sweaty - primal and, oh so right.

He withdrew from her regretfully and flipped her onto her back, her body nothing more than puddy in his hands. He grinned, immensely satisfied with himself as he sat on the bed, pulling her knees around his sides. As always, he placed the heel of his hand against her pubic bone, but stopped suddenly as he drew on his magic for the contraception charm.

Aware that his slight intoxication was seducing him, images intruded upon his mind unbidden as he watched her naked chest heave as she tried to catch her breath.

Arya sitting cross legged on the ground with a small Elven baby that was wrapped in one of his old shirts, no more than three months old – one of the children they had rescued along with Elsa. As they waited for reinforcements, Varric and Solas cared for the older children while Arya cared for the infant.

He brought himself back to the present, but his fingertips absently caressed the soft skin of her flat belly. His heart warmed as he lay a palm upon it, his mind failing again to beat back the invading images.

Her fiery, unforgiving face as she clutched the baby to her, successfully catching him after he was thrown at her by their retreating enemy, of whom Solas had pursued. When he returned successful, she was kneeling on the bloody ground as she held the baby flush against her chest, his head held steady against her shoulder. She was rocking back and forth, tears streaming down her face as she tried to shush his wails. Her merciless eyes sought his and wordlessly asked the fate of his prey. He nodded in assurance, his own face grave. She stood then, and turned to return to the group of children with the howling infant in her arms.

Later, her face was alive and soft as she cooed at the baby lovingly, face enraptured despite the horrors they had just witnessed. Even with the cat, he had never seen her so enthralled and gorgeous as when she held that tiny life in her hands. She played with him in attempts to assess his well being, but he was of the last to be abducted, so he had the least chance for the abuse they witnessed. He babbled happily in her lap as they sat in a clearing, waiting for reinforcements to arrive.

At least the bastards had the sense to steal a nanny goat, and he recoiled thinking of why they would want to prolong the infant's life. Arya's face was content as she leaned against a tree with him in her arms, feeding him from a milk drenched cloth, rocking and humming softly. She positively glowed with a magic even more primal and profound than her ancient fire. He was utterly incapable of taking his eyes away from her. Such magic as she held the infant that smelled of him, wrapped in his shirt, was a potent force that threatened to consume him.

She had caught him staring at her before, but this time when their eyes met, her face softened, and her green eyes filled as she looked at the baby briefly before returning his gaze. He felt his face redden and had to look away, pretending yet again to mend a rip in his shirt.

"Makes you think, doesn't it?" Varric's voice came quietly from Solas's side, devoid of any of its usual humor. He met the dwarf's knowing eyes before turning back to Arya. He hung his head, his feelings extending so beyond his ability to express in words. Admiration, panic, love, despair, assurance, ire, _want_. Varric respected his reticence and stayed silent, but remained beside him as he waged war against himself.

That image of her was burned into his brain…that experience in watching her - it troubled him more than any other since joining the Inquisition. Blinding, primal, pure _need_ tugged at his heart, threatening to undo everything he had worked for from its intensity. He had never before felt so overwhelmed and distracted by his instincts. He felt himself falling from his path, and it terrified him. What frightened him more was his consummate want to allow it to come to pass.

She was winning, damn her.

He wanted her completely, to make her his mate, to fill her with his child, and was trying desperately to convince himself away from that selfish path. He had spent several sleepless nights in that fierce internal struggle since, unable to find an answer and quell his disquiet at the staggering need that pulled at his heart.

"Solas?" she asked him, noting his mind had wandered. He shook himself and his hand glowed blue as he touched her, magic probing her. She giggled as she always did when he performed the charm.

"Why does that always tickle so much?" she squirmed.

"It is a very sensitive area, vhenan. Have you not noticed?" he suppressed his feelings automatically with humor, for he had not yet shared his internal struggle with her. The last time he had allowed her to have her say in the matter, he had given himself to her despite all of his brain's warnings. He had to be careful.

He extricated himself from her and went to her desk, filling a large glass with water. He sighed contentedly as the cool air from the still open doors to the balcony kissed his skin.

He smirked at her surprised face when she drained the glass he gave her in one long, satisfying drink.

"Have you had any _water_ to drink this evening?" he asked as he offered her another filled glass.

She shook her head in response and took the refilled glass. She drank half of it and handed it back to him. He finished the remainder and placed the glass back on her desk before closing the doors to the balcony.

She had crawled up to her spot on the bed and flopped down onto her back, still above the covers. She gazed at him, glowing, and beckoned with a finger.

He smiled and obliged, lying down beside her. She snuggled up against him, burying her face in his chest and breathed his scent deeply, sighing in contentment. He wrapped an arm around her, drawing her closer to him.

"You are always showing me such new and wonderful things." She said it so sincerely and softly that he laughed out loud, kissing her forehead. He said nothing, for fear his worry would register in his voice, and he wanted to simply enjoy being next to her.

"Everything's all…" she started,... "spinny" she finished lamely, unable to find a more adequate word. He shook his head slightly, and tightened his arms around her briefly in a wordless response.

He let his mind wander yet again as he held her in his arms. After a while, he felt her body relax and her breathing alter as the drink and exhaustion overtook her, bringing her into sleep's embrace.

She awoke as he started to disentangle himself from her grasp, but was only able to utter a vague noise of protestation as she pulled him tighter to her. He shushed her.

"I will be back." Her grip didn't loosen. "Shhhh…I need to relieve myself." She released him reluctantly then, her arm dropping limply to the bed as he scooted backwards from underneath it.

When he returned, he was amused to she was in the exact same position, lying on her side with her hand extended over where his form was a few minutes before. He finagled the covers out from under her and crawled in beside her before covering them both in the soft blankets. She snuggled against him in her sleep and he smiled as he buried his face in her red hair.

Whatever the future held, he would content himself with his selfish fantasies for one night, at least. He pulled her close and kissed her forehead as he closed his eyes. He let his mind wander as he waited for sleep to claim him.

* * *

><p>Woo! Nice doozy of a chapter. :)<p>

I recently replayed the Fade chapter and Solas's "Dying Alone" tugged the feels string _hard_. It had to be so hard for him to deny himself such a future and leave Lavellan. /sigh

After all…wolves love puppies. ^^

And here's a sneak peek at the chapter I'm working on. ;) Will hopefully provide some warm fuzzies and dramatic irony when I eventually finish it.


End file.
